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lua May 2020
the moon pushes and pulls
with the ocean waves
of ebbing tides
and the swell of seawater
as it flows towards itself in blue and white curls
repetitive
hungry for anything
swallowing and devouring
deep beneath the surface;
a disturbance
yet captivating
tantalising in a way
like hypnosis
a dance which the sun can only dream of watching
as it clings on to the horizon
for a glimpse.
its bitter Mar 2018
Walk The In-between where
it rains, lukewarm,
from overcast heavens –
omnipresent silver gaze desaturating,
nullifying,
mattifying,
smooth like velvet.

How those endless skies weep endlessly for you,
lost traveller,
fine mist descending upon you
sense of absolution, fog of forgetfulness
and you can’t feel the rain puddling
in the ditches of your collarbones
for how faintly it caresses your body
Finally – let it wash away those jagged clusters
of salt crystals from your lashes

Follow your feet
you know where they lead you:
away from glaring light and midnight sky, to somewhere softer:
The In-between.

Amble towards it and believe your own fiction:
You yourself chose this – willingly.
You weren’t drawn by the same ripcurrent,
having towed you here countless times,
each journey into the fog
more lingering than last.
You will be here just a minute-
not an instant more.

But truthfully, you are following your own footsteps,
tracing lines already worn thin.
You’ve dwelt here before
You fear you’ll not escape this time:
The In-between,
Purgatory is not novelty
to you, traveller.

You follow:
your conscience,
your habits,
this well-traveled path
to tender oblivion
Your return
– inevitable –
to The In-between.

And on your pilgrimage
you conveniently forget,
perhaps on purpose,
how the dim lights seep –
like seawater does
into fibrous hulls of sunken ships –
inevitably, steadily, invisibly –
into your own eyes, how they too grow dim
cataracts of algae
you feel ancient as the seafloor, silty
cold, untouched, untouchable, stagnant;
half-hope to stagnate here awhile

See, you frequent this hell because
when you finally break free,
you remember only the comfort
of nothingness,
dismissing how desperately you crave
the absolutes and colours and emotions
black white blue and red
The state of existence – how you miss it
when all is suddenly grey

Yet here you are, again
meandering, lost, again
you are exhausted, again
rest your weary eyes, dear
But – by God, child – do not fall asleep here
Sometimes, difficult realities felt deeply can become overwhelming, the most comforting solution being sinking into a fog of numbness. Existing, but not really. A greyed-out version of life, not sad but certainly not happy either. And this state of being can become addicting, a sort of self-comfort, but it is not reality; it is depriving oneself of real joy. Accepting the disastrous consequences of existing this way can be difficult, but escape is even more taxing – once liberated from this nothingness, colours and lights seem harsh. After too little, it is too much all at once: joy, sadness, sunbeams, love, hate, inspiration…  Here is where the cycle of feeling and numbness begins: feel too much and crave peace, feel too little and crave something real. To cope with the relatively magnified realities, each dangerous journey to the “In-between” lasts a little longer than the one before. Perspective becomes skewed when dancing between these extremes, a balanced middle-ground becoming nearly impossible to inhabit. And this is why the nothingness becomes so enticing; it is a reprieve from its only exhausting alternative. This is why I continue returning to it knowing well I may not be able to leave.
Leo Dec 2015
my lungs are filling
seawater is pouring down my throat
bitter and cold
and like waves
memories flood back in
screaming and thudding
hiding my face in my pillow
rain on my window
like the tears on my cheeks
from numb ears
after the screams
mother, father, son
you can't see the cracks
they hide but they are still there
just don't talk about the cracks

— The End —