The Pressure on my chest is whole
And dense
Whilst my body is a shell
A cave that echoes with regret and worry
Stalagmites grow with sharp edges,
To puncture fleshy thoughts that break
And empty
Into words that take shape
Into words that take weight
That mean something
To someone and something
I will breathe in and fill up with air
And for that moment I am Full
Time slows,
the tide of emotions that are creeping in.
Soon they will not ebb and flow
But carry on with an influx of water
That has nowhere to go.
I can hold the breath within the abyss,
But not for as long as I would like
It must go.
Or it will grow and grow and grow.
Take Shape
Into meaning,
Or nothing,
Or something.
A breath escapes out
And another comes creeping in.
Breaking the cycle of thought,
Until another crashes in.
