I see the ocean far,
Tides pulling back,
Tides spitting out.
I go near, for I felt interested,
But I fell in,
Deep.
It's not the death that scares me,
It's not the dark.
It's the way.
I go deep into the watery pit,
Breathless and alone.
I swim and I swim, but I cannot get to the top.
It feels like a tide swallowing,
Swallowing deeper than my empty mind.
The struggle to get to the top is not working,
My hands stop moving,
My feet stop kicking.
My mind are supposed to go blank and black,
But the sentence appears,
I'm ready for death.
I died in my tears,
I cried so much,
I got so angry,
I felt so hurt.
I fell so deep,
Swallowed alone in darkness,
All I could think was,
I'm ready for death.
I write when I'm sad, and just like the tides, I spit out what comes in.