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fisharedrowning May 2019
i made sworn enemies out of Monday.
fumbling, ruminating.
clock ticks by;
helplessly hiding,
glass encloses me.

"i don't understand...
why does it have to be so hard?"

like a pendulum,
fumbling, swinging,
between hope for the future,
and despair for the inevitable.

don't get me wrong,
even i tried hard at something once:
piano, guitar, ukelele,
stories, poetry, photography...

even i had moments,
of rainbows and roses;
while fully aware,
of storms and thorns.

like a pendulum,
fumbling, spinning;
dizzy from pain,
or happiness, depending.

i don't understand...
why life has to be so hard.
  Jul 2018 fisharedrowning
Cné

paint me
with the wet tickle
of your tongue
lingering with affection
savoring my fervent flavor
in bold strokes
of your obsession

color my essence
in heated hues
sending shivers
down my spine
in anticipation
of your warm breath
against my flesh
with every blissful caress
to ensue painted petals
of animation

with your supple lips
gently blur the lines
of my curved hips
softly stroking
the subtle shadows
of warm depth,
blushing
quivering thighs
as I gasp
of breath

plunge in
a primer coated palette
dipping your stiff paintbrush
deep within
the folds of my blanket
manipulating
a trembling image
of your voracious lust.

craze me
again and again
in breathless
****** glow,
your sensual brushstrokes
gently murmuring
layer on layer
in alla prima flow

delve deep
into my eyes
paint splattering
the passion
of my soul
drizzling silken strands
of love
in their entirety,
polishing me whole

and then
in blissful backwash
admire
the tangled limbs
interposed
of your
completed masterpiece
in smiling
sated repose

fisharedrowning Jun 2018
spinning round and round, i
cry into the eternity,
that i've chosen to hide myself in,
i can't go back now.

this dark pain in me,
stains the grey clouds, till it
seeps into my skin, continuing,
i'm just tired of numbness,
i don't know if i can ever
survive the empty night.

if you pushed me one more step,
if i told you how i felt,
we might not return from here,
we could never turn back.
if i took just one more step,
if i closed my eyes, made a choice,
maybe it won't matter then,
because all will fade to black.

maybe this is all a dream,
maybe nothing else is real,
you and everyone around,
blurring faded figurines.
maybe my heart stopped existing,
the moment i breathed the night,
paralyzed in uncertainty, i
fall into a deep nightmare.

will time start turning again?
will i find myself again?
in this icy world where i have paused,
but the world keeps on flowing.
maybe someday i won't mind,
maybe one day it won't matter,
because i will use these hands and
make it all fade to black.
I want to dig my fingers past the muscle
and pull out my heart
so that i don't have to bear
the arrhythmic beating.
the banging on the drums
that cuts at my veins
which stings my wrists
places that I've bled before
fresh wounds
pouring out sweet regret
alternative realities unexplored
I wish I could've loved you.
Written 5/14/18
fisharedrowning Jun 2018
the ocean is never still.
it ebbs and flows,
sweeping me from the shore,
in rhythms of ones and twos.

i held my breath and counted in threes,
in the darkness i couldn't see.
waves crashing,
one step forward;
two steps back;
leaving me helpless,
powerless,
pulled towards the whims of the moon,
looming over me.

in between gasps,
i squeezed my eyes opened.
peering between tides, i realized,
i was right where i started.
neither pulled back, nor forward;
i am here,
in the present.

the storm i thought would break me,
passes through me like rain.
i float along the ebb and flow,
trusting the highs
and lows.
  Jun 2018 fisharedrowning
Wind Lass
I dealt death today.

I know it’s a part of the job.
I know I’ve seen it too many times to count.
But today,
I felt it.

I left the room long after their family did.
There was no where I could go
To escape their

Roaring grief.

They were long gone.
And I was left with their precious baby.
I curled his arms and legs up
Closed his eyes
Wrapped him up gently.
With love and respect
Here he’ll sleep forever.

And oh,
They are so thankful,
That it was me
That I understood
That I was so careful
That I spent the time with them.

And you’re not supposed to take it with you.
You’re supposed to leave it
When they walk out the door
With one less goodbye.

But I took it with me today.

The way they felt before
The way they felt after
The long quiet goodbyes
The man in a suit on his knees weeping
The mother and son making a cocoon
Sheltering their dying baby.
The solemn face of the woman who plays god.
The green death.
The last breath.
The heaving of the living as he gave his last.
The waiting.
Slower rhythm.
Quieter.
‘He’s gone now’.

I watched the clock
The same way I had
An hour before
Waiting for death.

Soon as I could
I fled out the door
Ran into the street
Tried to outrun it

Instead I ran to you
I dialled your number
With shaking hands

I know I’m not supposed to
But all I wanted was you
Your voice

Ringing out
Thankfully
I wept alone.

Today I dealt death
And I found I am not strong enough
To sustain this
Alone
Or for long.

I found I still consider you my haven
Deep down
But that you are not my haven anymore
Or should be.

I listened to the silence
After the call rang out
And decided
What will I do when I hit the last straw? What becomes of me and my useless brain? This was too much today. I wish I didn’t want you. I’ve made an obsession out of you.
fisharedrowning May 2018
weekdays we're packed into spaceships,
travelling near the speed of light.
within the fast-paced nine to five,
time grows slothful and tortoiselike.

thank god it's friday.
living for the elusive weekends;
the public holidays, annual leaves,
vacations and staycations.
feeling alive
less than half of the time.

condemned for our eternity,
to break backs rolling stones,
against cruel fate,
and a downward acceleration of 9.8;
only to fall harder,
than the apple he never ate.

the universe throws laughter,
rivers stream with lemon-water.
someone once told me,
"to survive you must develop
a masochistic tendency"
towards what, i did not know.
perhaps, lemons and apples.

suicide?
there's no time, no compassion,
or legislation for that.
wishing to sleep, forever,
in cryonics' tombs,
for a warmer future,
in which darkness doesn't loom.

nonetheless, amidst this absurdity,
one must believe,
Sisyphus is happy.

myself, i rest in peace;
knowing i'll soon
return to death's womb.
for someday, i'll stop thinking,
and therefore, like them,
i will cease to be.
From The Myth of Sisyphus, Albert Camus: "The gods had condemned Sisyphus to ceaselessly rolling a rock to the top of a mountain, whence the stone would fall back of its own weight. They had thought with some reason that there is no more dreadful punishment than futile and hopeless labor.
...
I leave Sisyphus at the foot of the mountain! One always finds one's burden again. But Sisyphus teaches the higher fidelity that negates the gods and raises rocks. He too concludes that all is well. This universe henceforth without a master seems to him neither sterile nor futile. Each atom of that stone, each mineral flake of that night filled mountain, in itself forms a world. The struggle itself toward the heights is enough to fill a man's heart. One must imagine Sisyphus happy."
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