In the crush of black that breathes like a lung,
I dream of faces stitched in wrong
too close to mine,
too smooth, too still,
like mannequins afloat in thoughtless will.

The stars above are drowned in pitch,
a cosmic sea where logic splits.
I float past doors with names I knew
but none of them remember you.

The hallway loops, the lights stay dead,
and something walks where thoughts won’t tread.
I see myself through warped glass eyes,
mouthing truths my voice denies.

What house has no rooms but echoing breath?
What mirror leaks salt in the arms of death?
I have fallen up, and swum down wrong,
to where pressure turns names into static song.

There is no sky, there is no floor
only corridors behind each door.

So I marry the current, I wed the void,
A bride of depth, a ghost employed
to haunt the halls of human shape
a drowned reflection, wide-awake.

And when I scream, it sounds like sea
the sound of something once like me.