It begins not as a wave but as a weight. A constant press against the clay and stone.
the silent seep of doubt of the days that pile and turn my resolve to dust.
I hold. I pack the need with desperate hands, Each thought a sandbag against the rising deep,
And I feel the tremor cross the shifting lands where wakefulness refuses me my sleep.
This wall I built was meant to channel, hold,
and restrain.
But the pressure finds the flaw and my cracks.
The unseen faults that run right through my core; whispering in a language of black and endless water, “You can hold no more.”
A sound then– not a crash. A shudder from the foundation of the soul.
Then, the wet world, once held back, pours through the breach, assuming full control over my sanity.
No more the fight of muscle, will, or mind; the current takes the pieces of the wall and shows resistance to be deaf and blind,
As it beings it’s unforgiving thrall.
I am dissolved. “rearranged”
A mineral scattered in a furious sea.
There is no single solid part of the Chaos is not in me.
It is me.
A brackish tide where I once stood apart.
The Levee breaks to set the water free and drown the map of my own breaking heart.
Collapse of Control
