i’ve almost drowned three times in my life. twice in a pool, and once here. the torrent that once ran thru this basement has stopped. the familiar sediment left with it. the pressure of pent up sentimentality, regret and hope that once pushed against the wall of this dam broke free. for three years that current flowed strongly. at times floating down that stream felt safe, other times it was marred by personal loss, grief, and anxiety. the water became heavy. the liquid congealed and condensed, turning into a salve, one that was applied in a haphazard thickness across the burnout. meant to heal, it turned the skin red and swollen, leaving crackle and scales that began to scar. darkzone’s ointment dried into a film, adhered to my skin, a reptilian retrograde. as i shriveled up,  the subeteranean riverbed dried. the evidence of what was here had been washed clean. coming back after three years, i don’t have the same attachments. i had pulled up anchor, got off the boat and taken my baggage with me, burying it somewhere along the way home, supressing and forgetting what it was i was carrying in the first place. it’s not how i remember it here. the imprinted grandiosity from the past is null. what's left is a husk, a hollowed out gord, free from the burden of its insides.