Ah this familiar deflation,

the air compressed – the chest crushed inwards.

Ah this free fall into the abyss,

the tightening and constriction – the curtains close.

The lights go dim and I land on the hard deck of a sunken ship..

..gnarled with barnacles on my sandy castle floor.

Bring up the barricades, let no one in!

I wasn’t here. (a comfort if not to know I was alone)

Bring on the sharp objects and the elements of drowning!

I float to the bottom, weighed down by the armor of unmet anticipations.

So quiet and still, the faint echo of laughter in the distant corridors.

I question the point of being up there in the open.

I question the point of being up there grazing on poison.

I question the point of being up there in potential exposure..

..to that which gives no answers, clogs the valves and stops the breath,

pulls me in and flings me to the scavengers.

This bitter taste I’ve grown accustom.

Salty tongue to cure the raw marinating taste of rejection.

Or be it the other side of someone’s procrastinations -

to whistle away the days of precious taking.

I cannot litter my loves away.

I cannot toss them, like once worn socks, towards a corner to migrate

under the bed – mingling with dust bunnies and an old penny.

When every day is a chest of possible treasures –

what could take precedence over that rare moment of connection?