How to Disappear

First,

let thought flicker.

Let it collapse like wet ash in wind.

Let Christ down the brain

like water down a well

until there’s nothing left

but light and static.

Stop forming questions.

Let your language rust.

Forget the names

of your own bones.

Do not feel.

Do not flinch.

Do not try.

Float.

Become the blank page,

the undone thread,

the air between closed lips.

Make stillness your home.

Let your heartbeat become

a rumor

no one quite remembers.

Forget mirrors.

Forget clocks.

Forget the sound

of your own voice.

And when they ask—

where did she go?

what happened to her?

why does she look like

an answer no one prayed for—

Smile,

the kind that means

nothing is left to burn.

Nothing is left to carry.

Nothing is left

at all.

Just the soft hum of surrender.

Just the holy hush.

Just

gone.