I stand on the edge
of the obsidian water
that has pooled together
Touching the tips
of my bare toes
of my bare bones

I am curious
to see what lies
on the other side
of the water
and my reflection
beckons me
but it is different than I

I am strong
I am the swell of the ocean
I am natural
I am a petal refusing to bow to the rain
I am exposed
I am content in my nakedness

But my reflection is inviting
as she waves to me
to come over to the other side

I am falling head first
into the pool
and I feel every hair
being ripped and laid
perfectly in place
and I feel my face
become malleable wax

And as I emerge
from the pool
on the other side
I am gasping
My skin is red and smooth
My hair is shiny and long
My face is smiling and demure

But my ocean is a puddle to be stepped in
But my petals are to be plucked at any given moment
But my nakedness is to be shamed and clothed

And as I look around
a myriad of pools
surround me
with people
who are just as horrified
as I am

because we are not who we are.

They're coming
The onyx hands out of the suffocating dark
They want to wrap their bony, jagged fingers around my mind
They want to pull forth
every floating word, every idle
malevolent
thought
about the impending future
I pull back
I pull away from them
I hide and forget

They're here
The onyx hands lurch out and pluck every stagnated
putrid
thought
about the cracked future
and compound them into the front of my mind
I'm struggling as the thoughts cut into me and
snake around me and
cover my body and
crush my throat and
fill my nose and

They're gone
The onyx hands have receded to the hole they live in
I am bruised blue and purple
I am bleeding
everywhere
My lungs are raw and rubbing together like sandpaper
My broken eyes spill over
My mind sees nothing
I am not breathing
I am not moving

I am

                             Fine

I'm just soaking
in it
Just counting the
minutes
Blood stained water
             in
                 the
                      tub
It's hardly the time now
is it
When you're breaking a
little bit
Shoving purple fists
                into
                       walls
I just can't help
it now
You'll have to show
me how
Not to cut myself into
          internal
                        scars
I'm so sorry
that I
Can't keep my ****
face dry
But the water is above
               my
                   head
You could do so much
better
Instead you chose to keep getting
wetter
This tub has been keeping
                 you
                        in
I can't seem get out of
my skin
And I kept thinking where
have you been
It has started to fill up
              my
                    lungs
But you have decided to
stay afloat
While I begin to sink beneath
the boat
At least I can see you
          breathing
                           still

Sliding down drywall
my body is heaving
my hands are sweating
my vision is leaving
The creaking of aching widows
slam shut around, around, around
until all have fallen down
                                              down
                                                         down
I dig my fingernails in between the floorboards
uprooting them as I concave
and as my throat become desert shores
I inhale rust and sand
as my nails rip away from my hand
My eyes shutter up to the ceiling
where the blood begins to seep
in between the hairline fractures
caused by incoherent weeping
I let go of the floor
and out stretch my macabre hand
as the rubies fall from wooden sky
and into the canyons that my body withstands
I let the red iron slip off my fingertips
and onto the saw dust floor
where it lands softly
unlike I had done before
And my salt water fell to meet it
as it slid off my chin
plummeting towards the crimson
where my nails are pounded into the timber
now soaked with tears and blood so I remember
Every time I look at myself
I see my own personal hell
as my face glitches in contortion
because all I see is distortion.

Humidity in theory
harbors images
of nights lit up
by bioluminescent flying jewels
that you catch in between your fingers
like a cage too large
and they fly away
into the sky.
The evenings are thick
with sweltering droplets
that hang beneath
the orange street lights
that cast a muted glow
onto your salty lips
and hazy eyes.
The day's steam.
And as the water fills your lungs
And as your clammy hands run through sweaty hair,
summer is alive.

Humidity in practice
invents beads running down your back
that pool in your shirt
and matted hair that sticks
to the nape of your tender neck
while you claw at your throat,
suffocated breathing
in between the condensation.
The days are layered with
mirages on the bubbling asphalt
like a sea that only burns you
and the yellow lines are
the only safe haven
when crossing the street
with just your soles.
The summer's plastic bag.
And as the sun blisters your skin
And as your hands only long for arctic rain from a calcium faucet,
summer is alive.

The gray is fading into black
Clouds smudging into night
Like tar snuffing out the light

I walk in balmy weather
as I see my breath turn to wisps

The snow has begun

I feel the heft of a flake
brush, then land definitely on my skin
As I wipe it away
pastel black stains my frame

And I walk along the grid of roads
My path made, there is none
Just the cinder
The snow of bodies
Cremate

The smell of chaos lingers
here
petrified in the outlines
of ghosts on the walls
Silhouette

The air is sludge
draped in wool
stuffing my body
in between
the drifting specks
Burnt

I'm so aware it's silent
like the brief moment after eradication
A pulsing sound that
blacks out
Gasping

Shuttering eyes, I look up
Noticing the giants of the city
Steel bone, firebrick skin, glass eyes
Empty as these transparent mirrors reflect my
frozen, sweaty hands
touch the soot suffocating the street
Wondering whose footsteps are these?

Wish it would stop raining
Stop humming
Stop thrumming
The crystals of the clouds
collide like kaleidoscope colors
as they melt into each other
on the rugged roof of a
dark home
Wish it would stop raining
Stop silence
Stop distance
The house is deafening empty
emitting the hollowing
like carving out a heart
Wish it would stop raining
Stop thinking
Stop blanking
The relay station is skipping
and skidding cycles like
the record player isn't live
Stop raining