The drowning feeling is unbearable, and I've upheld it for too long. What's the nature of this? I wish for a longness that supersedes itself and goes on with ease, a narrative uninterrupted, a life not lost for words.
I don't mind the pain pangs, the broken dreams: I can face them all, I'm used to it; I can be my own saviour, I can cruise the menacing waves. I just need a little help to fight this curse, this intimidating darkness that assails me when the day is born, not yet alive. I live fast in oblivion, I sense strong, I write long. I can be inspired by the stillness, the caressing light wind, the remnants of the storm as long as I breathe, as long as I'm able to work my thoughts in suspensive dots.
I learn from touch, stretching along wideness which I seek. If life stops at a halting break, I'm undone like a mechanical failure. A life so ordinary it hurts.
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