The night fades like cigarette smoke into the fog, as dawn is brought upon the horizon by loon calls. Used needles and condoms sit between the rocks. The waves push plastic bags and empty bottles. Ghosts of lost dreams are haunting the shoreline. You're looking at me, while I'm looking for salvation. Although you're with me, I'm still dying inside. I blink, hoping for rain instead of the sunlight. If this is living, I'm not sure I want to be alive. But you touch my hand and I look at your face, and somehow your smile brings me far from here. The colors in your eyes take me somewhere nice. I wish I could drown there instead of rotting here. You blink; I wonder if your hell is anything like mine. Are you wishing you could drown in my eyes, seeking salvation, hoping for rain instead of sunlight? I'll never ask, because I know you won't tell. We don't speak of these things. We only feel them, and we feel them alone, because that is how we are. The waters crash against the rocks; you sigh, and, now, I'm certain, you're as empty as I am. That sigh says more than your words ever have. Your mind is more polluted than the murky waters, twice as grimy as the spaces between the rocks. The ghosts of your lost dreams are waltzing with mine. I'll stay here alone, wandering the haunted shoreline if it means you'll drown somewhere nice in my eyes instead of rotting in this awful place with me.
I decided I'm going to post old poetry on the days I can get out of bed. Today was better than yesterday, but tomorrow could be five times as bad as today. I won't know. I'm trying.