A whisper passes my lips, an attempt.
Words fumbling o’re tongue and teeth,
my hand on my chest, set to repress.
I inhale false confidence; my brow shrugs lowly,
conjuring determination from a pool of lies,
a pool of myths never able to quench a thirst.
Focused I begin, a piece of my soul lodged in my throat.
Two-way traffic on a one-way street, I implode.
My being and body shrink I feel bone crack, muscle contract.
I am less for a moment, empty and devoid, I recover.
Quickly recover as I have become accustomed,
each shock takes its toll; each failed escape drains the pool.
Waterfalls are most beautiful in solitude.
In silence save the water’s bright hum, choking ceases.
Moss grows on my cheeks; sweet secrets line my lips.
I fall on myself full force (like the water, the fall, and the rocky reality beneath).
The impact creates the mist, the beauty; still, each shock takes its toll.
I swallow, a shallow pool, a whisper passes my lips.