the pressure
pulverizes
bone into dust

i don’t want
to be this way
anxious
overwhelmed
dissociating
from stresses
i cannot tell
if are real
or imagined

the diving bell
distorts
displacing large
bubbles rippling
to a surface
no one monitors
a kink in the
hose forming into
thirteen loops

i know the
suicidal ideation
is a desperate
plea for escape
a more sophisticated
approach to cutting
leaving pale scars
on the gray matter
that assuredly doesn’t

incorporeal
a bone dust devil
in manic dissent

was i ever real?