the boat

23 9 7
                                    

this one's darker dw...

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trapped

in my own mind

it's dark in here

like a prison cell

or a little box

with no air holes

to let light in

or oxygen for that

matter

it's clean, though

marring the writing

on the walls

that i've been

ignoring

marring the

tears

on the floor

that i haven't had the

energy

to clean up yet

it's peaceful

in here

like a little metal box

and when i

scream

nobody can hear me

so i don't have to

worry

about what they'll

think

or what they'll

ask

am i dramatic?

i don't think so

maybe i'm not in a

box

but on a boat

out at sea

all alone

in the vast ocean

and others are

calling out to me

"there's land nearby"

they shout

but my oars are

lost

and my ship won't

turn

and i just

go on

sailing

into the horizon

the deep waves

blue and green

the color of your

eyes

at midnight

or how i imagine

them to look

in the dark

they could swallow

my little ship

whole

a whale

comes up

foam crashes down

upon the deck

of my boat

the winds are

wild

the sea is

raging

the sky is

stormy

i thought being

at sea

was supposed

to mean peace

but

perhaps my boat

is not a boat

but a cubicle

in a dull office

gray walls

gray panels

in the gray ceiling

gray faces

gray minds

gray imaginations

a spark of

color

in my cubicle

but then it's

gone

gulped up by the

silence

the mundaneness

the bored

boring

people

but maybe my

cubicle

is not a cubicle

but a cottage

at the edge of a

field of

sunflowers

with a forest

on the other side

but one day

i walk into the

forest

and i don't come

out

for a long time

the shadows

surround me

branches reaching

as if they are

hands

as if they want to

snatch me up

but it's nothing

compared to the

horror

of my mind

ravenous monsters

twisting vines

torture chambers

and walls

insulated

doors closed and

cracks blocked

so that nobody

can hear me

cry

so that nobody

can hear me

scream

my mind is a

prison cell

a dungeon

a cottage

a cubicle

a little boat

sailing on the

ocean

far away

across the sea

a patchwork quilt of maybes and almosts ✓Where stories live. Discover now