??!?

Remember those small ***** that wash up at shore,
in the event of a low-tide?

I am those *****, and you are the tides.
I lay buried beneath a surface of fine grains,
salvageable in your grasp. I wait, live with you,
call to you like a tenant to their home.
I descend into your hold, unknowing, or rather,
forgetting that you change.

You always do.

You are the tides, always shifting and moving;
slow to recede, fast to return. You hold me close,
take what is dear to me. You press, and you pull,
and you push, push, push, bringing everything
with you. Always leaving nothing for me.

I lay open, bare, confused by my lack of home,
discarded like a stone, left to search for you
into deeper waters.

When you come back, you are new;
perhaps warmer, or perhaps colder,
depends on where you've been. Where
your currents always travel.  It always
depends on where you've been, but your
current had brought with it my filter of grains,
the white stark sand. The place I rested,
and where I deemed my home.

And you left it somewhere far beyond my reach,
apathetic to my struggle.

With your new presence, you leave me to burrow once more,
either shallower or deeper than before, in grainy arms
and lulling currents, making me anticipate when you would
leave again. Because I always have to find a new way to fix and
build my home, when the only thing you've ever done is make
me wait for you to come back.

And I am always surprised of the fact that I always stay.

I tried not to cry
When you cut your wrist.

I recognised well,
What had happened,
When I walked through your door.

Your eyes,
Agony,
Bloodshot.

You ******:
Wounded,
Savaged.

The bandage-
Hurried.
Medic alert!

White on red
Solemn colours,
All a child’s eyes can see.

How I tremble
As that child’s mind-
Helpless.

All my strength,
My smarts
And I can’t move you

Out of that state,
Out of this place,
This Hell.

Please don’t die,
I can’t live
Without you.

I had a dream
         I was surrounded by
                                  water
And I was heavy
         Could not reach out
                                    Helpless
While my mother was
          screaming for any help
                                     Pointless

My Insomnia is a ****.
He keeps me up at night and keeps the end of my bed warm.
When the sun sets and the moon comes up, I should be dreaming of soft things or wacky situations that could never happen.
But instead, I'm trapped here, with my Insomnia at the foot of my bed, keeping me on my phone.

My Insomnia is a patient man.
I've tried, believe me, to ignore him. I've laid for hours in my bed, wrapped up in blankets.
I've counted thousands of sheep, let them hop to and fro from my bed to the door.
But he shoos them away when they get to close.

My Insomnia is a jealous man.
He doesn't like Sleep and her warm and gentle touches. He favors his cold and sharp hands.
He doesn't let her take me until he's had me to the sunrise, where I should be waking now instead of sleeping.
He keeps me until my eyes are stinging and I'm all but begging to be released. He let's go only because he'll return at the end of the day when the sun sets and the moon rises.

My Insomnia keeps me in a prison.
I can't see the night progress through the blanket I've hung up on my window, as a makeshift curtain to keep the sun out of my eyes as I sleep the day away.
The night pities me and the day yearns for me. My friends wait for me and my sisters lose patience as I miss out on plans. My grandma worries for me, and pulls me from the gentle embrace of sleep.

My Insomnia is a cruel man.
He keeps me chained to my phone and my computer, to the horrors of my mind as I only seek relief through sleep.
The chains used to cut when I was eleven and so exhausted and so confused when he had first graced the end of my bed.
But now, when I'm edging into eighteen, I'm only tired and defeated. I can only let him run his course, and wait for school to arrive so I can imprison him with sugar-coated pills bought over the counter.

My Insomnia is an *******.
For even as I drift off in the warm arms of Sleep, I can see him drifting above my bed.
He whispers promises to return at the end of the day, to which he always does, to torment and keeps me awake until my eyes burn.
To keep me awake until I regret everything and burn in memories that resurface when the sun has gone away, and Sleep can't protect me.
My Insomnia has an iron grip on me, that not even Sleep can break as I rest in her golden arms and breathe in her strawberry hair.

My Insomnia is a spoiled man.
And he always gets what he wants.

the colour red,
the rage in your head,

the clench of your fists,
the helplessness

all you can do is watch
as everything around you gets crushed

all you feel is numb
after anger had its fun

Life is as inviting
As she is intense,
But don't be put off
By her indifference.

She will make us all martyrs
Before we're left diminished;
Leading us to slaughter
As we bask in our innocence.

So fear not her wrath,
For she is not shrill.
Their only directive is to ****;
Live before you've had your fill.

I'm Alive
But only still.
Can't thrive
Cold is shrill.
Fight & Fight
Work & Pain.
Suffering,
But All
In Vain.
Hours glide by
I'm still bored.
Crying on my
Bathroom Floor.
I'm Tired
Of this silly
Game.
You tell me
To Play,
But that won"t
Fix my
Shame.

There you are,
You pile of steaming hot crap,
I knew you were watching me,
And so I was on the lookout,

Why do you always turn up,
At the most inopportune time?,
Can't you see I'm busy?,
Can't you see I'm content?,

you sneak around leaving black sludge,
Shovelling despair and anguish into my bag,
Making it heavier as the minutes drift,
So heavy, I can't carry it much further,

I see you,I saw you and yet,
There's sweet FA I can do about it,
Other than crouch down and endure the deluge,
So bring it, let's have it,

Because, when you're done,
I may be broken, but alive,
I will be on my knees to be sure but,
I will always get up.. Always......

(C) eileenmcgreevy@ymail.com 06/05/2019