I keep trying
to stay afloat,
but the waves crash harder.
My voice muffles
the more I scream
a distant rumble now.
My eyes sting
so I keep them shut;
the blue water
turns to black anyway.
The waves rise faster,
sinking me under.
I fight,
but the struggle only sinks me further.
I’ve given up.
Hands flail,
then fall.
No hand reaches for me.
Maybe I mistook life
for the shore,
but it was the waves
all along,
pulling me under.
Why struggle
when the result waits,
silent,
for me to surrender?
Nov 25, 2025
Nov 25, 2025 at 3:17 AM UTC
I’m trying right now,
But my body won’t let me.
I’m trying to cry,
but my eyes hold no moisture.
They’re dry,
even though my emotions aren’t.
I’m trying to breathe,
but my lungs are shaking
and my windpipe?
contracted.
I’m trying to scream,
but my voice is dead.
My jaw shakes,
desperate to make a sound
for the world to hear.
I’m trying to move,
but my fingers are locked.
My legs are locked.
They’re shivering,
but that’s the only movement
my body will allow.
My body has
become a field of contradiction.
It’s numb,
but I can still feel something,
something cold.
Maybe I wasn’t running
away from my past.
I was just walking in a loop,
back into its arms.
Nov 25, 2025
Nov 25, 2025 at 3:09 AM UTC
Maybe the moon
looks beautiful
only because it's far
out of reach.
Maybe that's how it is—
with all things.
I learn to admire
from a distance.
Maybe it's safer
to look up and wonder
than to reach out
and ruin the illusion.
Maybe that’s why
I never tried
to reach for you.
You were always
more beautiful
when I couldn’t reach you.
Nov 25, 2025
Nov 25, 2025 at 3:04 AM UTC