water in my lungs

17 July 2018

you are
the feeling when i hover
between water and air, my mouth,

                     the      bridge      between
never-ending                                            horizons

a personal gateway to somewhere beyond heaven and hell


you make sinking feel like rising
and so i search for you
in places i shouldn’t be

the saltwater kisses my lungs repeatedly, ebbing tides of “i love
over and over again, my tears, they leave my body and
return faithfully like a scorned lover who loves more than
scorns, i don’t know
whose fluid breath it is that i inhale, mine or
mother nature’s…

is there even a difference?

i never felt like anything
but everything whenever
i was with you.


and you wonder why my personal definition of
love is pain.

how can water in my lungs feel like fire?
how can breathing feel like burning?
how can dying feel like flying?


you are the edge at
which i stand,
the very

of my insanity

it makes the most sense here.

i wrote my name in the shores of your palms, over and over
each time the ocean washed it out, a message
she would soon turn into a lesson.

you are

the      fine      line       of      death,

yet tell me why
i’ve never felt more alive?

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