I am desperate
The waves of despair and longing crash violently over me and I am left breathless,
tumbling
I cannot see the sky or the sand
and all that ever was is darkness
I am pity and self-loathing and
all these things I never wanted
yet always seemed to be
I know of nothing but what I hold in my hands
and none of this is me
I swirl in the current
trying to tether myself to...
to you. To the violence of your existence,
So that I may finally be dragged below,
sinking somewhere silent.
Where the pressure will crush me
into infinitely tiny pieces of a soul.
I will float and feather.
I will drift away.
Be swallowed, whole and incomplete.
All I have is seeping from me-
into the ocean that knows only one way.
To ebb and flow,
to abrade the world around it as it slowly
mercilessly sucks all under tow.
And what can I possible offer it?!
What is there for me to give!
But this life, this one,
seemingly insignificant,
tiny particle unable to die, or live.
I have no answers.
I try to sink.
I try to swim.
I try with everything i've got
to not just give in.
I read the words of others in anguish,
in pleasure,
in pain (it's truly all the same).
I drink them as if my soul were parched, my lips dry and aching for redemption.
I read them greedily,
take them in as if they might
provide for me an island of serenity.
To give me anything to become of me.
The words are without anchor
so I still cannot take hold.
There is just the sea,
and i, of it.
My heart races and pounds and
I cannot breathe-
or see or be seen.
Just the Ocean and I.
The corpse of yesterday
rots and washes away.
But I can feel the stench cling to me.
I can feel this and everything.
To go under is to disappear,
as if having never been.
To swim is to swim, swim, swim.
But weary I have grown,
so silent stillness settles in.
There will never be more than this.
There will never be more than then.