stabilised

she couldn't stomach it anymore;

not the storms 

nor the black eyes

nor the cries of carved mouths in driftwood.

she couldn't wait

for someone to grab her hand

and take her somewhere good.

she was tired, for lack of a better word:

tired of everything and anything

in the dark of the ocean.

so she took her own hand

and cupped it to her chest, folded in

like paper

or water lilies 

in half. 

and she tucked herself away that night,

into a bed 

wider than the water

and blankets

colder than the sea.

she tucked her heart

into exactly twelve pockets,

and threw away what didn't fit.

she was alone,

and at once so full of everything-

as if that lonesome night

she had swallowed the world entire.