A Sinking Man

I went under. Only for a moment. Everything immaculate. Dark, with shimmers of midnight. Sparks or satellites? No matter, farther away. No concern of mine.

 Fleeting, yet seething. Safe, yet smothering. A constant wrongness. A daily need to vomit up your own reality.   Living with suicidal needs makes sense when nothing else does. Moment to moment, sometimes second to second. It’s like being pregnant with a feral animal in the form of an omnipresent emotion. But I could put it down. I could let it out and set it free. Watch it grow, then sleep for the first time ever.

 Ocean worn. Salty and corroded at the corners. Edges like battery rot. One side has been outright bitten. Tatters of kelp peel away. A black box warped by blacker depths. There you are. Looking For My Teeth.