I wish I could brainwash myself.

I wish I could drop dead.

A knife up the thick blood vessels of my throat or a serrated stab through the gut down to spilling intestines.

An acceptance that I can no longer breathe when submerged in the ocean’s serene deathly oscillations.

Oh to have a whim to carry on only plays out into self destruction.

I want to be free but I can’t pin down exactly from what,

I want to be stable, but divine things never are.

Like the menace of fire, and all its wreckage, to be so fluid, so unconfined and so captivating,

And what about the beauty of essentiality in pressure?

Vital for balance and creation by clicking pieces into place.

But to think how pressure can crack bones, rupture eardrums and cause explosions followed by burning shots of steam.

The two conclude- in a pretty. little. rock.

Who would have thought from such Earthful demolition will become something so fucking prized,

A diamond, free from change as its exoskeleton is only the first layer that shelters its geometric insides

Crystallize my heart,

So it can never feel again.