I think I'll take a walk to find the beach.
   -the ocean locked my breath and since I'd thought the wave that cleansed me
   I've been drowning.
The air is always fresh in hales
through my throat but never reaches
   deep enough.

Hysteric, how I try to breathe
   when sand is in my lungs.
    And with no tide- just gentle winds
    to trace the edges of my wound
To let me know that I'm not whole.

   In Hell's persistence, hot or cold,
          the pressures dance beneath my chest.
      They run in fear of facing what may change them,
Angry that they're chased,
    and that they run.
till underwater takes them high enough
   beneath the light, beneath the waves.
        In wave-less depths they crack and space
   will crush them into holes in teeth of rotting suns.