A paper thin film boils over a white lake
A black fog in the middle
It’s sort of grey
My eyes are peeling back

The red vines beneath ache
Tugging for attention
I no longer seek

Pours are poor for crows that beneath
Break when I smirk
Upon my face

The red vines inside me rip
A privileged date

Blind but noticed
I no longer seek

Slipping beneath this

Thin
White
Lake

Blackness is here but
I hold my breath
Swimming down into a deeper depth
A paper thin film over my thoughts
Remaining my own
I keep them in the dark

~J.B.