every stage of this session
this press & decompression
feels unbearable
memory like pond water
hazy copper-toned
recollections of clarity.
this melancholia
is supposed to be an omen,
a sign of tides turning.
resurfacing from depths despicable
yet, they are familiar, recognizable.
the world above
moves overwhelmingly fast
for a shipwreck whose
every sigh is an essay
each blink creates ripple-wave-typhoon-tsunami--
feeling forced,
but too medicated
to crawl back to
that which my fingers twitch for.