look: i am trembling fingers again.
own pulse keeping me captive.
i think i locked up the dragon of my heart some time ago,
i think i threw away the key—
and now she is burning all my ribs up just to get free.

wonder: how did i ever come to this.
i have thought of death often enough that it no longer scares me.  
i tried to keep the worst of that locked up too, see,
but sometimes the whispers will slither out.
they run in and out my brain
like the ghosts of all i could have been.

see: i have thought of death often enough that it doesn't frighten me,
doesn't make me flinch no more—
at least,
not the way the shaking always does,
always a surprise, a shockwave,
all my old worries and fears and doubts and panic
coming back to bury me,

and it is as though
i have long since drowned.