Still Life I want so much to go under the water. Every midnight I visit this silent pond I've found. The dark forms of trees lace and lock across the moon, a glimmer of whose shine still escapes to slither into my pool. There's something in there--when I'm brave or fool enough to look, strange faces float up. They're warped and deformed, souls breaking out of hell in this secret place, or else reflections of my true self. I know I don't belong in the world. How I want to go under, to become another creature.