it's the uncomfortable void
in the middle of the night.
a null analysis by Freud,
and so, instead, I write.
floating in a melted crayon of doubt,
sinking, slowly, feet touching the ground,
silenced by the viscosity. whisper. do not shout.
visible. here, there. lost. never been found.
awakened by this sudden urge to breathe,
by a hidden sunrise, glimmering underneath.