The tank

Would I proudly enter a restaurant, a grocery store, a doctors office attached to my tank?  Would I paint it orange and decorate it with flowers? Would I name my tank like a pet that is with me all the time?  Would I embrace my tank, knowing it is my life – my breath? Would I thank my tank for being there for me when I just needed breath? Would I buy the perfect wagon to carry my tank, maybe a little red wagon or a garden wagon painted orange to match my tank? Would I tire of my tank?  Would it be a burden to heavy to carry? Would I wish I had just fucking quit smoking years before, years before I was attached to my tank? Would I rather die than carry my tank?  Would I, one day while sitting alone listening to the breeze, light up while sitting by my tank, listen to the oxygen hiss, and inhale my very last smoke?

 

 

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