What if I had every kind of nothing to say?
And the little tincture-thoughts 
swelled inside of my fingers
with a kind of sweetly sickening internal bleeding:
blood purple with an innocent and deadly potency.
The kind that causes the skin to crack,
like over-water-colored paper.  

I"m left sinking.
But not drowning.

I can breathe underwater
Just like I had always dreamed of when I was little. 
Those dreams were the best.
To breathe underwater always gave me a kind of invisible feeling.

And waking up seemed strangely disenchanting.

I'd open my mouth to speak
with nothing to say.