I dropped it in the bath
the ink bleeding from the pages
blending with the water into nothingness
soaking into my pores like a sponge
giving them a new lease of life,
invigorating my soul.
The pages left empty as the words were absorbed.
Just a blank sheet,
back to how things should be.

The ink flooding my body,
never to be released.
But that half hearted hope weighing down on me,
pushing and pushing to release this poison from my veins.
This isn’t how things should be.

I'm sitting at the bottom of the pool.
       The chlorine stings;
the mesh of blue tastes like skin.
Like the privates of some bodies
daring to seep into the flakes.

            It's so peaceful here.
The allegro of my heart- thump. thump. thump.
(thump-thump-thump-thump)
blocks out the voices
       rippling above.  
Children cackling,
a mother moaning,
    a lifeguard crying.    
          
     I open my mouth
                                    to let the roofied indigo flush my body
like codeine on my droughted tongue,                          
so we have no secrets.
So I am not the only one to see the ugly.            
                                    Water slides off my *******, thighs,
and all the parts of me the mirror doesn't see,
until everything around me is water
             taking away the hotness from my cheeks;
I almost travel time -
palming my wrinkled fingers and toes -
which crumble like chrysanthemums.

The view wavers
and I quint to the dissociating shiny, yellow arms,
giggling when they tickle my voided pits.

I feel like sleeping,
but I think I need a breath?
A little sputter - a small gasp.

Better come up before I drown.

Everyone is a keeper of secrets,
Little white lies
Sometimes big whoppers,
Even telling your child
Santa IS real.
But the most damaging, destructive and toxic
Are those you hide from yourself
Because the pain is too much to bear

Covering the scars splayed across your fingers,
Reminder, of names, sketches, all written down
Just as permanent as the wounds they cover
The only difference is that they're a little bit prettier

Some secrets are meant to be broken,
to save another.
Some secrets are dark and destructive,
and we need to heal.
Some secrets are meant to be kept secret,
as they are to deep to share.

You can trust the moon

She is too old to be shocked

And she never gossips

Except to the stars

They shimmer

Because they know

All the juicy details