Waterbeds

 

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When did laying on my bed feel like drowning in thin air on heavy water?

The heat transverses the length of my skin and converges with the water beneath me

A body: still and restless — moving, spinning around, in a place it’s paralyzed in

With muscles frozen, my heart beats migrate through my skin residing at the rendezvous for water and sun

A mind as hasty as my heart spinning around me, yelling at me, screaming at me

There are too many thoughts in my empty head

And I hear a voice talking to me — an unfamiliar one — a voice so deep so soft so calming so demanding. A voice that belongs to no one, a voice I can’t put a face on, a voice I can find refuge in. A voice that can hurt me, harm me, melt away my bones without touching my skin, drown me in a drought — drown me in dry dry dry air, suffocating me.

“Your heart is beating through the roof.”

 

Love, Alyazya


14 thoughts on “Waterbeds

  1. Sounds ominous in a split second moment but there is an undercurrent of calm as one assumes it’s your soul speaking. I guess if we all take time to listen closely, to tune out the world around us, it could be any of us on that bed, drowning in the moment. Great description and atmosphere!

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