You dilute yourself; ceaselessly spilling through the slats in casks

“The water will help to soothe your skin,”

“But it burns where you’ve torn in.”

And then you turn into ‘yourself’; a swirling vessel, red - not paleblood - but gore from gorging capillaries, turning into something that scares me

Connections were severed, you lost your footing, and

Crumbled to a haphazard pile on the floor

The tempest, wailing their loudest, spewing oscillations, turning to face the eldritch he’s struggled with before, he’s struggled to ignore

Don’t go out past the moon

I’ve seen the way we both evoke worlds where we cut off

But what’s to be said of me? How far did I fall from your tree?

And is this thing alive in me?