"If I take what I have
am I holding on to anything at all?"
This life I'm leading,
is it one with substance?
I don't want to reach for water
only to have it trickle though my fingers
leaving me with cold, empty hands
covered in scars to prove my struggle
but void of anything physical to show for it
as I sink into the holding place
of forgotten things
I want to flourish in the sea,
have the waters hold me above,
rock me back and forth
as a sort of comforting gesture,
and feel the warmth of the sun
as I float further into the horizon
forgetting to look back
"I'm never coming back again"