I feel…sunk

Not stuck, sunk

Sunk into who I am

Into myself, others,

The world

I feel sunk into this deep hole of knowing and existing, and I can see light at the top and it isn’t far, but it isn’t here either.

I wonder what it would feel like to be at ground level, or better yet - 

Up, way up there

But then again, 

It’s cool and comfortable where I lie.

My lips have been peeling for days

The more dry they become

The more I bite down

Revealing the next layer of raw skin

This layer then becomes the victim to the elements

Humid, stiff air

Turning

Cold, then harsh

Harsh, then cold

Both unpleasant

On my chapped, exposed skin

Maybe empty

Maybe full

It’s hard

The tingling that turns into little holes

That widen and widen and widen

Into vast openness

That’s what I’ve been told

Holes Inside, Outside

Maybe it feels empty

maybe it feels full

I find it hard to tell when I feel as I

Have you ever gotten that sensation before

The tingling that turns into little holes,

that widen and widen, 

and widen

into vast openness

Isn’t it good to be open though?

How I’ve been told to be

I know I have to face what’s under these heavy eyelids. 

What’s weighed them down and under

by today’s sourness, tomorrow’s unease,

yesterday’s 

egg washed dough

seemingly unappealing

baked, will become something ready for 

an engulfing, soft belly

hungry no longer. 

yet craving something of more content 

best served alone. 

no sancerre to wet the tongue, the lips,

only the moistness of saliva, as an oasis to self

— from the Self

a last meal is better left unserved.

the last breath unknown

the prior days an oasis from pain, barely weighed down by today’s sourness, and untouchable from tomorrow’s unease