it’s in the way that you breathe:
a ghost that tries but cannot reach.
i made a song from the sea—
do you want to be set free?
(do you ever think about me?)
what does it feel like to die,
then get pulled back and come alive?—
the moon that cuts through the sky:
an eclipse at war with what’s inside.
(a crack in your mask made of lies.)
we float like phosphorescence,
drifting into spaces we were
never meant to be (together).
i hold out, strangled
by my own doubts,
as the rot you buried
writhes through
the garden in the
hollow of my chest.
your insecurities
bloom from my veins
like mycorrhiza:
bleed every note
of my voice.
leave me to petrify in
your prison viscera,
dissolution that drowns
in your waves—
never to stray from trinetra,
a cord around my throat
dragging me back
to the shoreline—
don’t you want
to set us free?