Beneath the Surface

 
I feel it creeping,
something pulling at my skin,
like gravity that doesn’t let go,
but it’s soft, like water,
slow, sinking into my chest.

I’m not sure where the ground went—
maybe it was never there.
You’re still somewhere beneath the surface,
and I’m trying not to drown in the quiet.

I’m falling—
falling without a sound.
I’m breaking—
but I don’t know if I’ve hit the ground.
Is this what you wanted,
or was I already lost?
I’m descending—
slipping beneath everything I was.

I’m a ghost in my own skin,
fading, fading—
and I don’t remember who I was
before I started to fade.

Your face is a memory now,
blurred and slipping through my hands,
but your voice—
it stays in the spaces between my breaths,
whispering everything I can’t forget.

I’m falling—
falling without a sound.
I’m breaking—
but I don’t know if I’ve hit the ground.
Is this what you wanted,
or was I already lost?
I’m descending—
slipping beneath everything I was.

Maybe I’ve been this way all along,
a step away from everything,
waiting for the moment
when I stop reaching for something
I can’t hold.

I’m falling—
falling without a sound.
I’m breaking—
I’m breaking into something new,
and I don’t know if I’ll ever find my way out.
I’m descending—
slipping beneath everything I was.