enough time
for a death to be born. to build itself
from smoke and ash. to bend light
in clear air. yes, the aches,
the strange marks, are with me now.
the heaviness. the fear and sadness.
the bloat as if from drowning.
written yesterday; posted today. even though I don't like it. cause, NaPoWriMo, it ain't about quality.
Why is the language filled with metaphors about drowning? I'm tired. I don't know how much longer I can tread water.