I should probably start by saying that this was no one's fault, not really.

Some babies are born dead and blue in the places that you can't see,

And by the time that the stains start seeping through –

All heavy and hollow and lost with no place to go –

Well, by then it is already too late.

We were born with oceans for insides,

We forgot how to swim before we ever remembered –

And now I know that I was not born afraid of water,

But that I have made myself this way.

Inside of me, floating and sinking are the same thing.

And when I need rest, I like to see how long I can go without breathing.

I think about never having to breathe again,

I think about opening my mouth and swallowing myself whole;

I am just so tired, and there is never any rest here.

I keep my head pressed against each wave,

I close my eyes and pray that it carries me to the places that I have been looking for –

But I am beginning to think that they do not exist.

These waves are the same as a dream,

And each time that I breathe them in, I can only taste the fairytales that I have made of them.

It is so hard to feel alive when you cannot feel anything at all.

It is impossible to make a life when the only thing you have ever made was believe.