This is enough.           1
The water, a dark, cold river,    
will hold me underneath it.     3

I've boastful thoughts, "I'll be delivered,"
while floating down.              5

I'm a worn raft, broken off of a boat.      
You cannot hold unto me.             7

My wrenched, sadness, could pull
everyone; anyone, from above,                   9
into the cold.

No, I'll think nothing above the blinding surface.   11

Waves come from below the surface.
But, they seem swallow the sickness,      13
and cure me, free me, "finally."

But, can the sea hold my melancholy?      15
The waves roll, fast away, driving pain away
There is no deliverance, from the land, for this man.            17

Please, push me under, so that this is enough.   18

Now, I'm a fish.
In the blue world.          20

"I mean, I can breath!"         
Beneath the red, scorching land.   22

But, with a broken fin, 
and a heavy body,               24
It seems I cannot hold me, my fury

And, I was once a man, hurting, and tired.   
But, I was once whole, soaking up the sun.       27
I stood upright, but I began
to die in the heat.                 29

That is why this is enough.        30
A wave, a fish, a man in a dark river.
I'll show you what I'd be:  
drowned and wretched,

a raft,                  34
that pulled me under,
a wave
that made me flounder,    37
and now, a man 
beneath the surface.     38

The ocean. It's flow will hold me, 
this dark inside me...
"This is enough."           42

I will sink don't try 
to raise me.             45
Don't send something, 
like a burning rope out    47
to save me.          

The cold sea current is what becomes of me.
Sinking down to get away,        49
a fish is meant to die this way.

Don't hold me, in the heated hell      51
of the sun.                         

Don't hunt or raise a drowned man.  53

Don't burn a pyre, or bury me in the sand.  
I'm delivered from sitting in the,          55
braising day, hurting in the sun.

The water in this vast blue ocean, that is enough.  57

Your interest seemed so sincere
I thought I ought pretend these words have purpose
But as you read
You will see
That these words are worthless

I cannot keep spilling my heart out to you like this.
It hurts.
And you just laugh.
You already know I want to be with you.
Stop playing with me and give me an answer.
Do you want to be with me too?

Look at the birds for me.
But not the swans.
You'd find it too difficult to see me there.
So choose the indistinguishable
grey silhouette of something else,
because that is me to you.
I don't expect you to find me in their strength,
not in their flight or their grace,
but in their movement,
they are always moving.
Only once did I see one that was still--
with its tiny beak parted and its pretty wings bent--
I pretended it was sleeping.
Do that for me, if you want.
But remember,
as surely as the precession of the equinoxes,
the birds come back.
Lucky for me, I'm not a bird.