Anchors Aweigh

Spiraling downwards, and I'm trying to deflect it, stop it dead, but it lives. A voice that makes me still and small. Pooling somewhere within my ribcage, leaden. A voice that makes me run from you, and towards darkness. I try to kill it every night. But up and down the stairs it trails me, shapeshifting, and terribly alive.

Who would want this? Who would take this on? This darkness that drives me from you, a wreck of a truck gaining momentum and speed, lights twinkle and blur, branches and skylines twist by, sirens draw me nearer, their voices thin and watery. Trusting nothing but gravity. Gravity.

The humidity is like sorrow, stuck to everything, oblivious.

I can't escape.