fluctuation.
ever-changing currents, which hold the power to suppress
drowning is not the enemy,
suffocation representing my heart’s epitome.
i welcome its distortion, my lost sense of balance.
i’ve come to realize my unwarranted delusion of prowess.
i don’t need to try, don’t struggle to comprehend,
for everything is just one big, jumbled mess.
it’s a scenery of fading, one most dread to bear,
washing up childhood aspirations alongside tears.
the sentences on the screen, the words that go through my ear,
they’re waters caving in, as if an other-wordly cure.
i say i’ll find way, that i'm completely okay,
but in reality, i’m nothing but a fraud, nothing but scared.
i’m scared of pushing away the hands clasped on my mouth,
that instead, they’ll find a way to those around.
i don’t want to be a burden, but i don’t want to carry it all myself.
i want someone there, but in the end, i’m a coward to tell.
if only these words could drown me out,
that i could finally fall peacefully to the ground.
perhaps i would be washed to a different shore,
to start a fresh reality, one where i wouldn’t be torn.
submerge my limbs into the numbness of sea,
even if the winds are all-together empty.
repeat to me it’s fine, and maybe they’ll stop asking.
i could be fixed, at last, stop lacking.
pull down my eyelids, i’ve been tired too long.
drug all these feelings and create a con.
the biggest lie of my life, what a story it’ll be.
i, myself, will be the only one to witness the decree.
i could listen to the song i desperately want to hear—
a siren’s sweet lure, already echoing through some of my peers.
yet, why am i still thrashing? why can’t i be undone?
i desire to go under, i was never enough.
then there’s all these gentle hands straining to tug me up.
of this measly lifetime, who do i trust?
my mind has been in a constant spiral,
every hope and dream sent to violent peril.
i float atop the shifting abyss,
engulfed in the horizon, eyes starting to prick.
there’s no way to land, no place to call home.
will i let go, or will these shattered bones continue to roam?
the answer seems obvious, but, oh, it’s taken a toll.
grasping at an illusion, could i ever be made whole?
