I spend every day
praying to break this cycle,
adrift on a sea without wind in my sails,
no hands to row me to safety,
sitting in my own filth—
completely alone.

I see ships on the horizon,
their shapes shimmering like salvation,
but they are only mirages.
I whisper lies to myself:
“You’re saved.”
Laughable.
Nobody knows you’re out here.

I could jump,
let the waves take me,
drown in the mire of my own making.
But I’m too scared to die—
too scared to free myself
from this isolation.

Instead, I’ve hung the gun on the wall.
It waits there, cold and patient,
a silent promise,
If nothing changes,
I will save myself


Your move