Sometimes I Just... Want To See It

My Body Rises With The Water. Instead Of Kicking My Feet To Stay Abreast Of It, I Push All The Air From My Lungs And Sink To The Bottom. The Water Muffles My Ears. I Feel Its Movement Over My Face. I Think About Snorting The Water Into My Lungs So It Kills Me Faster, But I Can't Bring Myself To Do It. I Blow Bubbles From My Mouth. Relax. I Close My Eyes. My Lungs Burn.

Writing Means Not Just Staring Ugliness In The Face, But Finding A Way To Embrace It.

Because Even A Sliver Of Distance Between Us Is Infuriating.

I Imagine The Wave Of Water Colliding With The Rock And Spilling Over The Tile Floor, Collecting Around My Shoes. Doing A Little At Once Can Fix Something, Eventually, But I Feel Like When You Believe That Something Is Truly A Problem, You Throw Everything You Have At It, Because You Just Can’t Help Yourself.

I Breathe In. The Water Will Wash My Wounds Clean. I Breathe Out. My Mother Submerged Me In Water When I Was A Baby, To Give Me To God. It Has Been A Long Time Since I Thought About God, But I Think About Him Now. It Is Only Natural. I Am Glad, Suddenly, That I Shot Eric In The Foot Instead Of The Head.