Drowning in Your Static Light

The water is a lie, a shimmering membrane between who I am and the ghost of who I want to be. It clings to my skin like a desperate memory, heavy with chlorine and the humid weight of secrets kept behind glass walls.

I watch you from across the turquoise void—a predator in tailored linen or perhaps just another victim of this city’s neon hunger. Every time your eyes meet mine, I feel the jagged edge of my pulse against my throat. It is a fatalistic dance; we are two bodies orbiting each other like dying stars, bound by an attraction that feels less like love and more like an addiction to ruin.

The sun bleeds through the skylight, fracturing into gold shards on my chest, mocking the coldness in my veins. I want to reach out, to let your fingers trace the line of my collarbone until the world dissolves into a blur of heat and breath. But we are bound by invisible wires—the weight of expectations, the sin of desire in an era that demands everything but gives nothing.

Let me drown here, in this pool of artificial light. Let your gaze be my anchor and my executioner. Because if I have to survive another day in this gray metropolis without feeling you against me, then survival is just a slower way of dying.

Editor: The Escape Plan