A Momentary Goodbye

Just Breathing

By A Great American Poet,

Terry Scott Niebeling


Just breathing-barely, faintly, sucking air while assessing the situation.

How to care?

Floating away, slowly.

The pain is real.

Warmth is predominantly close within.

Unfamiliar people stare without an arm to spare.

Existing; a boat listing, yet afloat, an imagined sea on a shallow infested moat.

Slumped to a wall.

Composing priceless works for charity, of my own volition in my head.

Friends, family, and love wishing to be in my vision, sick dreams of missing, music skipping and so on.

Sitting on the floor waiting for the mission; ever patient assassin reading, laughing, full of options for expansion on a transaction.

Unlike career, steer clear as they come, we run cause we see clear, not out of fear, we keep running.

Avoiding them as the sun’s gravity pulls closer burning flesh, to leave it pinked and damaged for cancer sake in the end.

Now that doesn’t effect me.

Now I don’t think that will affect me.

Somethings are more immediate.

The lesser of two evils, always two.

And ten more.

Mostly more, though.

Life isn’t always black and white-there is an invisible area.

My teeth are still straight, still close to white, and still the envy of others at the free church dinner as I smile.

They will grace my funeral well, fixed, I hope, head propped up grinning.

They cost me a few bucks, love you, can I get a hug?

Eyes pitted, red where the white should be, and my flesh is turning surprisingly pale.

Freedom is free, but little pay can buy anything by freedom’s standards.

The cost, the casket, the hole, the processions, the words, the pictures, the tissues, and lunch.

Who pays, and do we tip the servers?

I volunteer ideas, suggest thought, give perspective, though with all the noise I doubt they hear it.

Passionately watching a loved one leave me for another.


Time goes on, but time will tell.

Moan and move on as well.

Where is my family?


I breathe heavy.

Pleasantly in anguish from disease, malign concern, and ever present uncertainty.

Leaking like ceilings in a slummed-out high-rise with poorly maintained, and outdated, plumbing.

We just know this.

This is what we know.

A growing boy as I eat, I think of those who can’t, or who do and expel their meals to fit in.

To sit thin in the writ-in witted crowds of the absurdity.

Get your goals from a magazine.

Get your novel ideas on the telly.

Stunted at the moment, too much coffee.

Maybe it will be the last.

Saturated with facades.

Blinded by improper thought and fleeting delusions.

Crowned clever, and he lost his head.

Happily outside of the burning fire of unpaid bills and bounced checks, as if they could catch fire and float away forever.

Possibly they could cause a forest fire.  Oh! The irony!

I am terribly concerned.

Life’s boundaries and desires are locked up in a cage in our head, the key is in our stomach.

I have a gut feeling about it.


Start digging.

And then I expired, but not really.

Found out I just had a cold, and I am still here to complain about it.

A side note:

Can’t help it that I’m happy.  Listening to Lennon reading Hemingway.  I don’t care what they say.  I think I’ll have a good day.  Big smile on my face, ready for life to take place.  Enjoy every moment of your life, that’s right.  Feels right anyway.





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