I always admired the lake-leaves
weightless, almost,         with
lilies of pure white resting
atop the water, as if they had only
              truths to tell.
I wish I could drown     beneath them,
  the     light burning      holes in my
spine, through the cracks in the green,
     purifying me, making me new.
How my tongue drilled       into the dust and
my skin                 willed a lie.
     I couldn’t stop the bleeding        this time, though.
I carved a hole in the dirt and poured
myself into it, the earth       wrapping
               around me
      like soft palms comforting.
The dust falls upon            the skin of my thighs      like dew
on the wings         of the first pale moth       of morning.
And my heart sighs       knowing that I cannot simply
      fly away, that I cannot dig my way out, and
that I am the one        who put me here.