Writings

The Sink

As I sink.
No thoughts left to think.
Lost the facility to cope
with the ability to untie this rope.
Tied to my ankle, the anchor dangles,
pulling me down to the dark abyss of the continental ridge.

At the bottom of the sea is where you will find me—
feet buried in Earth’s quicksand.
Thoughts staggered consistently in waves of low frequency.
A sensory deprivation.
Becoming a stranger in my own imagination.

Released from my cage on the floor of the sea stage,
slowly fading away on purpose.
Bubbles increase in size, rising to the surface.
I look up at the sight of the blurry light.
In the current’s muffled echo, I let go.

I can hear my heart beating the drum in my ear.
No longer bleeding. I’m losing my fear.
Feeling the vibrational rift—
the tectonic shifts
of the Earth’s plates as they scrape,
creating a break, a quake, an ache.

Heart under pressure. A quiet surrender.
Now a bottom feeder. A non-believer. An eternal seeker.
Throw in the towel. The existential rebellion dies without a drowning howl.
No last stand of defiance—just peaceful silence.
No more resistance as I cease into nonexistence.

No quiet prayer will reach the surface for air.
No scream as I fade into my forever dream—
heavy and slowly beating,
muted and barely breathing.
Salt fills my lungs as I slip from the final rung.
And this is the last verse that I sung.

Layers Unearthed

It lies beneath
every layer of grief.
Begging to breathe
from elbows to knees.

Unmask it,
from cradle to casket,
fetal to fetal,
unthreading the needle.

Months in a day’s gloom,
as Mother Earth consumes
a blooming womb
inside this tomb.

The Darkest Nights

You didn’t need to skin me alive
To see the color of my blood
I always survive then wish I’d die
As I’m dragged through the mud

Left feeling so explosive
Violent and corrosive
A drop of Aliens blood
Eating through the tub

Burning Hope and Letting Go

I’m Velcro rotting in emotional escrow.

Inside my body, feeling the gravity.

Pulled and pushed down—

Through the ground, I lose capacity.

Suspended in negative space,

I see white noise at this pace.

The silence is deafening, it’s cyclical,

Facing a reckoning, lost in the liminal.

Famished, following bread crumbs.

I see the door as my head numbs.

Left cracked, barely open,

With a song and no words spoken.

I finally felt visible, even coherent.

Invisible again, not even transparent.

Searching without being guided.

Fading without fully dying.

A ghost is what you made me.

At most, I’m always a maybe.