To Go Out Ugly

I will write in my journal ‘til the ink runs dry

and I'm left scratching an empty quill against paper

an abhorrent ellipsis mocking my thinning hair.

I wear my skin like a sweater

One sopping wet

after being shoved into the pool in my front yard.

All I wanna do is peel it off

jump back in the pool

and go deeper.

Deeper.

Deeper ‘til the woes of reality are muffled

cloaked by submerged tranquility

and the sting of chlorine in my eyes

fixated on the faces above

who would trap me.

Truthfully, there is no pool.

Only a hole

a ten-foot hole.

Leaden by my sweater

I sit at its bottom

burrowing my painted toes into the dirt.

I look up at the stars wishing.

Wishing for a cure

while the pages in my journal, ellipsis and all

are cooked under the smolder of a slow death.