I have no control.
The anchor slips, the heavy chains unwind,
And leave the steady, solid earth behind.
There is a mutiny beneath the skin,
Where something hollow starts to hollow in,
A frantic pulse that beats against the grain,
A ghost that claims the architecture of pain.
The breath is shallow, caught within the chest,
A bird that beats its wings in search of rest,
While every nerve, a wire pulled too tight,
Begs for the velvet closure of the night.
There is no steering now, no hand on wheel,
Just the cold surrender of the steel,
As if the marrow, tired of the fray,
Decided it simply longed to drift away.
It is a silent war, a weightless fall,
With no response to any frantic call,
Just the quiet snapping of the thread,
While life continues, though the spirit’s fled.
A vessel drifting on a lightless sea,
Waiting for the dark to set it free.