And do you remember how to breathe?
You’ll need to when you want to scream.
When your fingernails are worn
and your tear ducts ache.

I long to slow dance on old wooden floors
And feel the need to clap when I say I don’t believe in fairies.
I want to be in awe of the magician with his cards
And not understand that people can be cruel.

But instead I drive over tarmac roads
And agree with the logic of unbelieving sceptics.
I know the magician has practised for years
And feel no surprise that atrocities aren't news.

Do you know why I cry?
And why I scratch at the walls?
and soon when you want to scream,
Will you remember how to breathe?