A brief piece on clinic depression and so forth |
This needs a lot of work, so any advice would be great. Thanks, Mai. The Shadows of the Water Slowly slowly, it clogs my capillaries, And the only way I know I’m still alive Is the fact my heart still beats Though I compel it otherwise. It weights my body. Leaden lungs, And I’m dragged under the rip tide. I can’t breathe And I wrestle I scream I fight for the surface But I realise it will soon over-power. So I sleep. Passive to the tide Sleep. Aqua-darkness below, I see the light shine down Gloopy through the water The shadows dance. And Voices call to me As I slowly drown. Voices, disconnected from bodies. I want to be consumed by the voices to be part of them for them to carry me to the surface to help lighten the weights that pull the weights that I can’t untie to cry unabashed to tell them what I can’t tell myself. But they talk too fast too solidly. Death should be a peaceful lonely place. I want them to leave me not to touch me not to ask questions I cannot answer in the plight of death to stop trying to help in ways they cannot help. For they are disembodied Sad and without physicality. They cannot float me to the surface. |