Black ink drips into clear water; it diffuses. I am a pebble, thrown, Skimming the surface until it loses; I am submerged but not alone. There is blackness all around me, Thin but clearly evident. Water bodies are my happy places; Black is a lack of color- a numbness. I could dive into the ocean, But apathy would follow my path. I am running, breathing heavily, But I can't escape the crawling black. There is an inkwell inside everyone, But mine- I have acknowledged it. Try as I have to escape the thoughts, It latched onto the acknowledgment.
Once in my life, a few years past, I dove directly to the black, Hating the world outside my water glass- The only way to block the mass.
Since then, the ink has followed me, Bodies of water to water bodies, Creating a film through which I see, A subtle, haunting apathy.
We're not so different, you and I. There is an inkwell inside everyone. You are sitting on the lid of yours. From mine, I am on the run.