I Feel It

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.

About Catastrophe Jones

Wretched word-goblin with enough interests that they're not particularly awesome at any of them. Terrible self-esteem and yet prone to hilarious bouts of hubris. Full of the worst flavors of self-awareness. Owns far too many craft supplies. Will sing to you at the slightest provocation.
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