this is the trip

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been here before—
shoreline before me—
the cold-crystal ocean
oscillating in waves
rolling toward our doom.

another plume.

this is the trip—
it doesn’t go down

slow.

pentatonic—
scaled for dionysian eyes—
the blues bruise.

at the world’s edge
i am black and blue.

put on repeat,
an endless playlist.

yes, i’ve been here.
crystal shards abrade—
my feet, a salted rub,

a crimson wash,
rich in briny blood—
the pain is a reminder,
no one gets out of here

alive.

POET’S NOTE:
Part of The Thinking Dark collection.

© 2026 Tristan Robert Lange. All rights reserved.
First published on mypoeticside.com, April 21, 2026.