Perpetually existing
with a head fully
submerged underwater,
Though I have never
succumb to the
womb of this 
sunken tomb. 

There are still
moments in which 
my knuckles whiten on
the edge of possibility,
And my brute vigor
is enough to whip a 
heavy head of hair out
from below the depths of
capital contentedness.  

I have noticed that this
is when the pull of oxygen
tastes the sweetest. 
I turn to look at fear,
gasping like a heathen
from over my shoulder,
and with wide saucer eyes,
it cowers. 

– B. 

Leave a Reply

Please log in using one of these methods to post your comment: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s