Bubbles

I pull myself under, counting the seconds before I become breathless, I can feel what little life is left come bubbling out of my mouth and through my nose.

I want to drown.

I want the bubbles in the back of my throat to permanently make their home in my lungs. I want the wrinkles craved by the water, embedded within my fingers and palms to become their first and final texture.

I want to become endless.

When I open my eyes and see the world covered in a blue fuzzy glass, no matter the temperature, I feel held. I feel cradled, and protected by the cold.

I feel safe.

The muffled sound of my heartbeat in my ears, is like a underwater sympathy, nothing can compare to its orchestra of blood rushing to my heart, pumping the wasted youth through my veins.

I don't understand.

I don't understand why or how, I could be anywhere else on Earth but here. This watery grave is the purest form of a home I've ever know. Everything feels real here, here at least I know I'm not alone, here I am the purest form of infinity that's ever flowed into creation.

I lost myself.

As I pull my bruised knees up to my bear chest, my wet blonde hair covers me like a blanket, as I watch the bathtub drain, I can see what's left of my mind escape with it. And I am alone again.

A.P.M