you’re suffering from some painful
sickness they like to call living.

lost in translation for you, mouth
open & hard with frost, your teeth

on the ocean floor, a place you never
wanted to go.

but you’ve reached some sort of
understanding with doing things

you don’t want to do.

your life compiled of those moments
of silence, when the search parties

put out their torches & go home.

leaning back in the bathtub, some
agony you like to call peace,

but what they never told you
is that the water is lying.

the light never looks the same
from underneath.