Storm ★★★

My stomach turns itself into knots
Balling up like the riggings
Of a storm swept schooner
Tightening within my neck
Wringing like the hands of the priest father
Like the hands of the capsized mother
Over a hole six feet deep
But just three feet long

Carving a hole into my heart
A socket choked with roots
Cut open like nerves
Bleaching in the open air
Severed in the act
Of burying ourselves

And in only a moment
The failing structure collapses
And I dig into myself
Struggling to find air
As the weight of the world pours in
I splinter and split open
And am left raw and floating in the abyss
Yearning for surface

I feel my thoughts constricted
As I grope for roils of nothing
Breathless, dizzy and searing hot
But ultimately
I am as if an empty vessel
And I am rendered void
For in the end I am just a body
Still