Small Box - Lysistrata

I feel my lungs fill as I drop closer to the cold sea bed

My right palm aches as I crush it back and forth into my head

The rays of the sun they jitter on my pale blue skin

Distorted by the waves that make their way towards the bay

pushing outwards on these walls

but they don’t move an inch

they just seem to get closer

dig my grave, dig it, I’m ready

Breeze.

Blocks.

Breeze blocks in my head.

Push.

Me.

Push me off the edge.

Breeze.

Blocks.

Breeze blocks in my head.

Push.

Me.

Push me off the edge.