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Submitted on
March 2, 2012
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Sleep

I refuse to surface.
I will turn my limbs into fins,
layer my skin with scales.
I will slit my throat, such delicate gills.
Down here, they are mutable, shifting, first whale
then urchin, all spine and stomach.
Up there, air and light fossilize,
a trilobite caught in stone.
Of transformation or being in a stone misery
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:iconderelictvampire:
DerelictVampire Featured By Owner Mar 9, 2012
I think this is meant more to be felt than understood--as if "sleep" or your inner world seems more real and free than the reality of the world outside. Awake--engaged--you're locked/frozen in that disassociative state. I'm not sure if that hits the mark, but that's how it feels to me. Another nice piece.
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:iconswansisters:
swansisters Featured By Owner Mar 29, 2012  Hobbyist Writer
Thank you. Exactly what I meant. Thank you for the thoughtful comments
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:iconlancelotprice:
LancelotPrice Featured By Owner Mar 2, 2012
Cutting new gills for a breath of fresh air. Might work.
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:iconswansisters:
swansisters Featured By Owner Mar 2, 2012  Hobbyist Writer
Smile.
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