How much can I write about a pain that refuses to lessen? Sometimes I think it will be easier to drink the ocean than to sink and sink further.
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I still drown in the waters I claimed to have mastered
My love was a dream
So fulfilling that after it
All reality could give
Fell short
And nothing in this empty world
Could ever hold
The serendipity
Of my humble dissociation
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The days I meet you, I am almost convinced, I can wear yellow.
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Slytherin: The next time I’m opening up to someone is my autopsy.
Mon vide, you are a sailor, sea-swallowed and sea-spat. Your days on ship are spent with memories of your feet in the sand, and the nights on land forget to cradle you like the sea.
Under its blaze, when the sun is as of use as its sunlight, with desparation, you want it to guide you somewhere beyond. Poor sun, when it beckons you deeper, further, all you want is for it to shine on your beloved.
There is only disdain for you here. Under the sun, you will never be satisfied.
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You are on your own
Sail wherever you like
These waves are your to tame
This spirit has always been your own to break
And when it comes, the end
Inhale this scent, this sea
Sing your swan song in ecstasy
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I am him
Because like Antonio
'In sooth I know not why I am sad.'
I am weary till I am distraught,
Though my sunken ships never see the shore.
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Oh! She is steep,
The kind that makes you yearn
And fearful to leap;
Because one second
She'll show worlds of looming glory,
And in another you're consumed and spent.
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It's a poet's inclination. The urge to abandon this domestication and be the gentle beast of the woods. To see curiosity and amazement in the eyes of creatures for once. To have my muse climb trees. To fetch water from roaring streams. I have been civil in my suffering. Now I want to suffer from unusual ailments.
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