I'm bubbling over
And everyone can tell.
It’s obvious in the swell of the chaos inside of me, in how it dribbles from my eyes and creates tide pools that reflect my tired face. The swell comes and goes with no discernible pattern, unlike the tide. The moon is a calming presence that I cannot hope to have, and oh if that doesn’t sting- doesn’t prick barbs into my skin as brackish water comes, soothing, out from the pinpricks up and down my arms. I spend days connecting the scabbed-over, clammy dots, trying desperately to find the hidden picture, but the chaos just overflows and washes the lines away. Down, down, down my arms, salt mixing with ink and dripping black tears from the tips of my fingers. Sometimes I paint pictures with the make-shift brush, swirling my fingers on the blank walls like a child.
But whenever I wake up, they’ve gone.
So I stopped making them.
The water never drains though, and it’s risen over the days weeks months years that I’ve been here. From my scarred ankles to my knobbly knees- it’s up to my belly button by now.
Sometimes I swim in it; close my eyes and drift down to the soaked carpet floor, drowning slowly in the chaos that’s been inside me for a lifetime.
No comments:
Post a Comment