I don’t know how to say it,
How to wrench it clear from my chest,
To breathe lighter, without screaming myself hollow:
I am dying here.
This ache above my abdomen,
Its suction fierce, pulling me under.
I am drowning, barely breathing,
Clawing, gasping, scraping for air.
Swelling climbs from chest to throat,
Fills the mouth.
An involuntary smile twitches,
Eyes tightened, the first tear risks all.
What even for? Tears solve fuck all.
If I scream till my voice lacerates,
Will the surge fall quiet?
Can this page contain the shrapnel
When I burst?
I wonder, yet even in it, I pout,
Taut thoughts strain, refuse to sprout.
The rain I prayed for—moisture in a dry land,
Answered.
Flooded even the life barely clinging.
I stand laughing, for that’s the only way tragedy seems less daunting.
Bo-Peep hauntings, fear,
The thrill of uncertainty entertains.
Detached, I float,
Unable to wrench it clear from my chest, to feel lighter.
I get out to the street,
Disengage.
My work explores the philosophical stages of consciousness and emotional reckoning, ultimately trying to make sense of insanity. My poetry has been accepted for publication in Metapsychosis (Journal of Consciousness, Literature, and Art)