Drowning in Your Artificial Eden

The water is a lie, a shimmering veil of blue meant to mask the suffocating gray of the city above. They call this 'healing'—the rhythmic pulse of waves against my skin, the way the sun fractures into diamonds upon the surface. But I know better. Every drop that clings to my collarbone feels like a stolen memory, a rebellion against the sterile routine of my life.

I see you standing there on the edge of our private sanctuary. You are the architect of this oasis, and I am your willing prisoner in paradise. When I look at you, it isn't just warmth I feel; it’s a feverish ache, a fatalistic pull that tells me to sink deeper until the water fills my lungs and drowns out every obligation. My smile is a mask for the scream inside—the one that wants to tear down these walls and run into the neon chaos of the streets with you.

Let the world burn outside. Let the buildings crumble into dust. In this pool, under your gaze, time is an enemy we’ve successfully executed. I am healing, yes, but it is a dangerous medicine—the kind that makes you crave the very thing that will eventually destroy you. One more dip, one more breath of chlorinated air, and I might just forget how to live on land again.

Editor: The Escape Plan