Friday, April 11, 2014

The Mental Tidal Wave

I wrote this last year in a particularly rough patch. Please don't worry or think this is any sort of cry for attention, writing just always helps me and looking back on it, this turned out better than I thought. Enjoy :-)

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The thick and murky shadows swallow me whole.
I stare back at the perfect picture of myself
the face, jutting and shifting and curdling before my eyes,
this is who I am,
this is the physical manifestation of me.
And I can hear the screams coming from far off.
They're not loud, even when they're close
but they're worse than any jet engine.

They start small at first. A moan. A complaint.
A small whisper in my head that says something
indecipherable.
The words are fussy, I can never hear them, but they're mean
and they're unrelenting whispers, cruel whispers.
After a few minutes the alarms start to go.
Now this is happening. Now you're stuck with me.
The floodgates burst against the unforgiving waves
and within moments I’m absorbed.

Sometimes I’m lucky
and I’ll roll with the wave. Tuck and roll on my Bondi Beach surfboard
and take it as it comes.
Sometimes I'll cry for a while, a sweet personal baptism,
and afterwards I'll feel clean.
Not happy, not sad, but clean.
Those are the lucky times.

Other times my heart stays right where it is, rooted to the floor,
like seaweed rooted to the ocean floor as
the great tidal wave rolls through.
The rowers under my command jump and swim to shore
and suddenly I’m all alone
and it's rising higher now.

There's someone outside the door, waiting for me to hurry up.
There's a beautiful girl outside who's going to ignore my smile.
There's a beautiful guy who'll stare me down like I'm an imbecile.
There's someone asking if I’m alright, because I don't look too good.
There's someone saying I should get more sleep, and would it hurt to smile? It's just funny seeing you around with that look. It doesn't suit you.
It doesn't suit me.
It doesn't suit me.
It doesn't suit me.
FUCK!
You're late now. But you knew you'd be late.
You wanted to be late.
Or at least, you wanted them to wait.
But wait for what?
This won't go by 1125. This won't go by 1400. This won't go by 1600. This won't go by 1830. This won't go by 2000. This won't go by bedtime. Maybe it'll be gone by tomorrow.


Maybe.
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P.S. By the way, it did go. It always does. Sometimes it just takes a little while. 

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