When this small body I imagine to be mine feels too big,
much too big a space to live in.
Outside of it, how will I survive?
Already my heart is bouncing in an ocean of chest,
filled with fluid and veins that wobble and float.
My skin is watery.
My head fills with seas of thought.
Condensation behind my eyes, this is how it feels to live this way,
everything I see is shrouded like this – spotted on the inside,
I imagine that there is a little wet door cut into my oesophegus,
and in that dark spot I stash away
a reserve of something stronger,
an elixir, a liquer,
some promise. When I take it,
on my tongue and down my throat,
it is acid eating everything and
What is left behind might be clean and good and strong
and it tastes like hope.
But some days it’s just not there.
And I’m drowning.