The Swamp

Shaking, alone, dismayed, rejected...
I find myself in the midst of it, choking and gasping for air. I must have been sinking into it for a while, and yet here I am caught, completely off guard. The slender grotesque fingers have caressed and ensnared my throat. I don't want to fight to breath when breathing means I am forced to continue to gag on the fumes. So I sit here, in this feeling, consumed, unable to move, unable to feel, somewhere between breathing and dying and, foolishly, I keep looking to the sky. I keep hoping it will open, or a hand will reach down, but with each glance, I sink deeper. To the little life inside of me: I am ashamed. I wanted to shield you from the truth in the lies and the lies in the truth. I wanted to believe there was a reason and that love was real. I am sorry I tried to resurrect it from the undergrowth. Vanity is an illusion, trapped in our mirrors and photos. My heart is as disfigured as my body and I prayed you wouldn't have to feel it disappear. I prayed the beats would be proud and strong, but they flicker, they weaken, yet I will keep them alive long enough to bring you into this cruel place. I have no epiphany. No great lesson. I can't teach you about beauty, because neither do I possess it nor observe it. At least in this moment, it's further than the thickness of air beyond my view. Every day I swim through the murk to survive. I ignore I am here. I let the moss cover my eyes and I go on with things as they want me to. I pretend, I speak, I walk, I try. Then I'm here, and now I'm waste deep. I plunge myself deeper...To the depths of it I fall, and it feels warm, and light, and it is deceit and I accept it.