Tell me what they have told you about seas, the lost ones,
The ones they keep romanticizing,
Kept sugar coating its depth with love metaphors and tumblr aesthetics.
I've been under the water for years
And let me tell you it is not poetic, it is not even scientifically provoking.
So when i tell you I'm drowning I'm not making significant love confession or some movie pick up line. When I tell you I'm drowning It means I'm out of daylights
to occupy,
It's been days since the last time sun broke through my skin,
It means I’ve been wasting too many lungs on acid smoke and stolen identity,
It means I spilled the half-water left in the cup.
Thick layers of wreckage, fatal survival attempts, and letters of grudges to  your last forgotten birth-day.
I would have set fires to lead you back home, or enough to burn it
I would’ve set flames and birthday cakes
I would’ve lit fifteen candles and spelled your name and sang you a'happybirthday' without sounding like the apologies they never left.
But you know what they say about gasoline invading waters
it's been ages since fire last gave up her fight.

[FLASH-BACK]:
it's your mom first homemade in 3 months, it's baked mac and cheese with chicken, your favorite, you say thankyou as she sits down and puts more macaroni in your plate, sober than ever.
Your dad steals a smile to his plate then to you
it's been so long since this dining room were alive you could almost swear that walls were cursing you names and chanting foreign prayers into your ears
but the taste of normality is much better than hospital waiting rooms.

[FLASH-FORWARD]:
Count to fifteen, and fell yourself with objectless activities to avoid becoming,
because it's better sleeping away your reality than acknowledge it, isn't it?
Between Your Father's empty liquors,
And your Mom's Xanax ,
count to fifteen.

[REWIND]:
the noises calls out of the bathroom just like the one on your thanksgiving
Count to fifteen,
This is not what you think it is
Count to fifteen.
It is what you think it is.
Count to fifteen.
it's never your fault
Count to fifteen.
psychiatrists say it'll pass.
Too Much statistics to put faith into

[PRESS PAUSE]:
Plates are empty, again
Packed Bags under your eyes beneath thick walls of unsaid iloveyous, chocked up on a family dinners.

[PRESS PLAY]:
Now it's just you and your dad again
They say it's for the best,
They tell you everything will be okay
And You tell your friends you're fine,
because why other wise?
That the earth isn't swelling, that you aren't sweating, that you prefer long sleeves even in the hot summer days because why not, right?
Like big cycles of lies and vice verses of irony.

But for all what’s worth, may my words give you the lifeline you need.
And may you let die to let regain to let life breathe you again.

My humble apology
for inducing thee
to manure yourself
thru figurative following ****,
best flushed down the toilet
of the behavioral sink
why yours truly wretchedly reaches out
cuz I never experienced popularity
as witnessed like craze of yoyo hula hoop
impossible mission to categorize
one feeble hominid specimen as belonging
to **** sapiens group,

nor doth mine spiel attempt to dupe
luck hate, or sell thee anything
except the pleasure
of befriending, daring ye to risk
fondling me buttucks -
their shiny happy cheeks,
cuz that came fresh out of a shower
whatever twerks for flirting
maybe even an affectionate boop
thankfully me schnoz
just cute as a button
and said nosu not outsize nor adroop.

Yours truly solitudinarian by default;
Nevertheless, I recognize the necessity
to evince good humored nature.

I evince amazingly graceful social politesse,
whether non verbal acknowledgement
courtesy a genuine smile
or querying passerby
with cheery non-threatening risky
"how art thou?"

Hence a poem embedded
within aforementioned poem
Acta non verba... speaks volumes.

The above ad hoc Latin catchphrase,
which means 'Deeds not Words'
(concatenated with two English words),
I regale chance reader
immediately sets saddles ablaze
title of poem with timeless adage,
aptly suits this solitary
older male, whose daze
spent on planet Earth

aimless, colorless, goalless,
and objectless curriculum vitae
configures a zigzag maze
significant blocks of time
poorly aye now appraise
and rue so little forethought
wrought starry eyed glaze
amiss to any Amish,
colonial, horse drawn observer

passing by in their chaise
puzzled, asper my
doggone catatonic gaze
indicative as if me mind
lost in a foggy haze
yours truly attests,
concurs, he now flays
chastises, fulminates, lays
hard and heavy lament,

albeit cloistered frivolous,
lackadaisical, unproductive... ways
apathetic, estranged, indifferent...
ambivalent state comatose phase
toward life, when at young age
lacked joie de vivre evincing braise
zen lee oblivious zombie behavior
upon quick observation displayed craze
zee demeanor synonymous

with institutionalized craze
zee wardens of the state,
and at present realize futility to raise
hullabaloo, when 20/20 hindsight
shines figurative light on
how appeared to laze
about lost in space,
within outer limits
of my own twilight zone ways.