#MarrowPDXWrites Day2

On a dock

She sits beckoning me.

On a dock

She sits beckoning me.

Do I dare to meet her?

Will she swallow me up?

Or will she force me down?

Cement closed shoes,

No life vest,

Only suffocating emotion.

“If you do not come gently into my goodnight,

May your lungs be filled 

But your voice stifled.”

She never opened her black hole,

But the words rung clear in my ear.

She beckoned me once more,

Calling for my surrender.

I float in this space of hers,

Which way can I turn?

Is she truly on the dock?

Perhaps she’s already taken me;

Her unwilling prisoner,

And now we are one.

“If you do not come gently 

Into my goodnight,

May your body be heavy,

As though you’ve never known


Her voice, laced with glee, witnessing 

The destruction of logic,

Of careful reasoning,

Whisked around like a violent storm.

Deeper, deeper I— Rationale— sinks; Anger and Anxiety lick hands with her as I go.

“If you do not come gently 

Into my goodnight,

May your vision be hazy,

All color stripped from your


As I feel my lungs bloat with intangible screams,

As I feel my ribs creak with every stain of a breath,

As I feel the ripple of my remaining subconscious, 

Float away from me,

I realize there’s no rationale to her. 

The Mistress in White,

The embodiment of all self doubt and, self neglect.

Of course how could words reach someone like her.

So for today, we bow out...

“Until tomorrow.” When the cycle begins again.

— f.b. // Pessimistic Poet 

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