I feel myself
being consumed
by the universe—
a little more each day.

The sky draws light
from my wounds,
and pulls colour
from my blood—
into rainbows.

I melt,
drown,
vanish—
like ice in wine,
quietly disappearing.

My edges
start to blur,
my shape
less defined.

Though I vanished,
I made the act
of giving fuller—
Like melting ice
lifting water,
An ascent
born gently
from my dissolving.

I didn’t really know how bad it got, and usually I do.
I tend to keep to myself and stay in my room.
It didn’t look like that this time-
no, it slowly evolved.
There was no sudden switch with all of my body involved.

I don’t smile anymore while drinking my coffee,
and every day at 7:30 my mom asks what’s wrong with me.
I say nothing, that’s just my face,
and try to reassure her that my feelings she mistakes.

I sit with my family and join my daughter in pretend,
oddly, everyone treats me like I’m standing at the edge.

Until one morning my dad gives me a drink,
talks about renovation plans and asks what I think.
But I don’t care, and I don’t know why he’d ask.
He tells me he’s scared I’ll be like him,
and see life like an empty glass.

Which was weird, we never talk that deep-
but he noticed the change in me,
so I had to admit defeat.
I’m no actress, never been in a play,
but I thought I hid my sadness well-
that it wasn’t infecting my day by day.

But I’m a fool, so that’s really no surprise.
Now I really have to heal,
since it’s reached my family’s eyes.