sink(ing)_space

the things leftover before you sink below

unorganized thoughts

part i: water and its call

There is little to explain here; If I close my eyes and focus, I hear the crash of waves against the drum of my ear/
I feel the static roll across my body, up from the centre of my chest, up my neck and over my head, down my arms and legs/
I lie upon my bed as I would the sand, I stare unseeing at my ceiling and watch seagulls swoop down to capture empty shells/
My mother said I was a fish made human/
I could swim from the moment she first introduced me to it/
I feel the silken braids slide between my fingers, feel the thrash of the surface above and the endless quiet below/
It calls me day and night/
Know me and sink below/
Weightless/
Your way out within the depths/
There is water at the bottom of the ocean/
There is a hole at the bottom of the lake

part ii: cutting and other habits

I withold a selfish desire to carve myself anew, and bring forth my inner water; to watch myself reform and become real/
It is no different from the inhalation of smoke, to the stomach of liquer/
Only the raised lines are not internal and have become an eyesore/
I have never been beautiful and I never will be/
I keep my lines neat/
I pile them into spaces hidden, I wash and clean and measure/
I am careful and I am neat/
I dream of a time and place where I will draw as many neat, straight lines as I please/
Up and down

part iii: sinking below

And now I feel it welling up within/
The acid at the back of your throat when you sit crouched in front of the toilet/
The moment of ringing silence before the music returns/
The last tension of a knot before it cuts free/
Siren call growing louder/
I will slip away and under, return home to the cold-burning-warm dark, and burrow through the hole out/
I will pass beneath the shifting fabric of this one and will cut through the next/
Until I am rewoven/
A fish made human/
And this place will become just another wave against granite and basalt and gabbro