I’ve written before
About living in the grey
The in betweens and out of lucks.

I seem to never escape
The areas where the line blurs.
I don’t love just one part
I can’t be just one type
I’m a hurricane and a sprinkle
A little lost a little found  
Blue grey black yellow pink

These dualities live in me
The insecurity yet destiny
The anxiety yet certainty
The love of one v love of all
And above all
The absolute knowledge
That these dualities
Can’t
Be
Known.

Sometimes I get the urge
To run
And hide
And find the nearest dark spot
And cover my head
So I don’t have to feel for a second

In the same vein
Sometimes I want
To run to the water
An ocean
Any ocean
And have it swallow me whole

This isn’t a new feeling
The sense of calm as
The water rushes over me
And the moment
Where her song echoes
And twists around mine

Creating a faux haven
Where calm is guaranteed
The calm that only
Comes from the quiet of
A watery tomb.

This urge seems to grow
When I’m stressed
Alone
Uncertain
And her call echoes.

Is that why I don’t like the beach?
The certain uncertainty,
The calm and horror I feel
Watching the waves run
And return
And wax
And wane

The never ending drumbeat
Echoing, calling, yearning
To embrace my shaky mind
And become one
At last.

Skin on fingers cut down to the quick
Calluses formed for so long that the
Nerve endings that were and should be there are long long long gone
The tear of the skin as the anxiety ebbs and flows and wanes and waxes in a never ending pulsating mess from my rib cage spiraling outward

I sometimes feel like a personal hurricane
And excuse my cliche
But the vortex of overwhelming paranoia and nausea and dread
Are the things most frequently busting out of my chest
From a heart long out of rhythm
From a heart longing to be dead

And yet I’ve gotten everything I worked towards for so long
Yet my life is a train wreck
I live like a squatter
I have three friends
And I am always
Alone.

And just like those fingers
The discoloration from stress and anxiety
The bags under my eyes lengthen and grow to match the shadows my mind is now full of and I don’t remember ever being this tired and I do remember being less happy but sometimes it’s hard to separate the two

Am I doing any good?
Is anything ever going my way?

While I never thought of
Self inflicted scars and the
Silvery afterthoughts that
Always seem to follow,

I did think quite a bit about pain.

Pain that drowns, consumes,
Baffles, and clouds,
Until you aren’t your mind and
Your mind isn’t you
And the disconnect is concerning.

Sometimes this pain
Manifested in this or that way.
Mostly it was a fog
In which my eyes couldn’t see
Ears couldn’t hear
I wasn’t human
I wasn’t me
I just was.

The flickering exit light
usually shown through
This fog but I never
Had the energy
To take the running leap
It required.

While depression
Is familiar to me
Like a middle school friend
Now gone,
I sometimes miss
The warning signs
And then I’m
Catatonic.