I feel it,
the welling sorrow,
the sucking, drowning black of it,
the empty chill,
the hollow barren-blue
of a dead sky overhead
and a whorling sea around.
I feel it,
the way there was once a fire in me,
a burning,
a smoldering,
a bite-toothed wreckage
of horrors and need,
consuming every single thing around me.
I feel it,
the down-draw of a Charybdis,
the way it alway comes,
the way the wanting rises,
the way it forms a sharp edge
and bites in,
blood-red of a former fire
finally settling down
into a dark liquid chill,
finally gelling
into shadow.