You consume me in pain and you know how to
And I'm not sure if it's more tragic that I give in to it,
Or that you torment me to begin with.
Because each time this happens to me I just take it like a stone,
Being pushed down a hill with no set destination.
I let you kick me and toss me,
Sometimes into a soft grassy area,
And others times into a cold body of water.
And I should be buoyant,
I should know how to float.
But I always thought porous, buoyant objects were the weakest.
So with that said I can tell you something about myself:
I thought that being heavy and dull would get me by.
But little did I realize that lighter objects,
Are able to soar through the air in a way I'll never know.
They can float and regain composure,
And eventually dry themselves off.
However, I'm just sinking.
Whether it be in a puddle, in mud,
Or to the bottom of a lake.
And from there, I will continue to sink,
Lower and lower,
Into the depths of the murky, grotesque, filth that coats the bottom of this lake.
And now I am here, in this pile of filth.
And you would think that I'd try and pick myself up,
That I'd attempt to make myself float,
But no.
Instead, I will rest here for eternity and make this **** my home.
I'll learn the names of each organism, and possibly help them grow.
I will pretend that it's fine,
When plant life grows on me,
And when I become the layer on the bottom of the lake.
And when it is time for me to perish,
I will accept this sentence with complete and utter confidence,
And already have the advantage of being halfway sunken underground,
So I can rest six feet under with ease.
Instead of being thrusted one last time,
Soaring through the air, basking in the knowledge that when I land I will perish.
No,
I am already here.
I have already accepted this fate.
And possibly, if you try to consume me once again,
In a fiery consumption of misery and despair,
I will not catch a flame.
For I am concerned in muck,
Wet, disgusting debris,
And am no longer flammable.