Below

It rains on me
as I sleep.
And in the night,
water rises
and the river rolls
over the bridges.

And if it is to be
a drowning,
then let me dive deep
before going —
eyes open
and shedding
the cobweb
accumulation.

Let me dive down
until the above
is silence,
and only the sound
of the surrounding
remains.

Ashes,
blood,
skin,
dirt —
all recedes
into the sound,
into the sameness,
into the serenity
of below.

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About Emily

I may or may not have: A. Dirt B. Ink C. Paint D. Wool under my fingernails.

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