August 9, 2011
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How strange it must be

for the breath in my lungs

to become clotted, unused

after years of breathing

in and out;

exhaling my life and

inhaling my soul right back.

The water engulfs my brain,

floods down my heart

and becomes a river that flows

through my veins,

mixing with blood; shades of blue and red.

I would sink down like I would

in the deep;

down into the abyss of oblivion,

what they claim to be eternal peace.

But I would be found

coiled and struggling,

like a child left in the river Jordan,

yet immobile and not in a basket of comfort

spooled by her mother but

in her own cage of guilt,

in a prison of acrylic.

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