The Baptism

They said confession would cleanse me so I opened my mouth and the past poured in instead of out. Flooded me. Baptized me in reverse. Now I'm drowning in a holy water that tastes like ink and old paper and all the words I should have said when it mattered. Is this surrender or is it trying to breathe? I can't tell anymore. The liquid crowns me, makes me beautiful in my suffering, turns my breaking into something almost sacred. But here's a secret unknown about purification: sometimes the water doesn't wash away the sin, it just teaches you to breathe underwater. Sometimes cleansing is just another word for drowning slowly enough that people can watch and call it healing. My hands want to reach up but I've forgotten what I'm reaching for. Sky? Help? Or am I just trying to catch the pieces of myself as they float away?