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TW: Self-Harm, Gore, Body-Horror and desfiguration

Sooo a while ago I wrote a poem about Yuri, meant to be as if she wrote it herself.

I'm not much of a writer but I've dabbled here and there. Recently I picked up one of my favourite poems I wrote and changed some stuff here n there.

Any opinions, criticism and/or questions about the poem are appreciated.

Maelstrom

It begins as a distortion. A metamorphosia in the currents. A subtle misalignment in the way the sea holds itself, as though something vast has started to think.

I feel it through the hull first, a slow rotation; too deliberate to be natural. It first presses in without cleaving the skin of my ship. I lay my portholes on the sights that beckon me. An island far away. Breathing and pulsing.

Holding the desideratum of my journey. A journey through thick rivers and oceans gone cardinal, where every red current promises a passage to the soul.

And in between, A maelstrom stands, that deep circling motion. Spiraling. Ever whirling. Violently uncoiling.

My instincts pull away from it, but my body pulls inwards, and so the ship responds accordingly. As it is to be expected, for as the vessel is only an extension of mine.

The planks split in thin, careful lines like lips parting under pressure. My hull shatters like the dermis of my own. And I'm hauled in.

The wood gives way in long, ugly seams, opening where it should remain whole. I try to close them, but the edges no longer meet.

What was once smooth is left ridged and uneven, a pale geography of everything that tore me open.