Maybe it is easier, letting go of myself. Listening to the voices of others and not what is said in my head. Thinking I am insane, spiraling and not all there. Maybe I listen because it’s what I tell myself. That my emotions have no meaning because of my unbalance. That my thoughts are a distraction from what’s in front of me. That my life is not my own. Yet, these same people contradict themselves. Tell themselves they will not listen to anyone else, yet feel entitled to others to listen to them. Ignore one side, to see theirs’ in a better light. Drown out the noise with the opposite of compassion while preaching love.

Am I a contradiction too? Lost in the sea of the empty. Floating with my eyes open, yet seeing nothing but the water my boat cruises upon. My engine dead long ago, my food gone and water drained. Yet, it is all around me. I choose not to see. I am the same. So why do I let it affect me? Why does my mind spiral? Why do I want to burn the patches that used to once help keep my boat from sinking? Is it that the weight is becoming heavier? That everyday another steps aboard I reach closer to the limit before it sinks below… to be lost in the ocean. A story untold but assumed by all that see another time. Maybe I deserve it all. The emptiness I feel inside as I attempt to latch onto any emotion just to feel something and pretend that I too have my own mind.

It will never end until I sink, struggle as I may, it is just in vain as if quicksand. So perhaps it is time to give in, what then would happen? Would I float as well as I let go of what once kept me above the tides? Or will it only take a single storm to sink me as well. Who knows, in the end. I do not, so how can you?

Then I sigh once more, as it’s time to play pretend.

As I hang from this cliff, my body hurts at my wrist.
My arm becomes stiff as tears leak from my eyes as if mist.
My grip becomes strained as I try to focus on my pain.
My feet slip on the rocks from water that fell when it rained, my body now becomes my bane.
If I am to slip and fall from this edge, I will hold fast until I cannot anymore.
At least I will descend with my pledge, but I am so sore.
My gaze becomes hard, as I know what must be done.
So as I rhyme like a bard, from the end I will not run.
I close my eyes one last time, and breathe in deeply to find peace.
So much for this climb, and as I let go, I smile as I know my worries will cease.
“Goodbye”, I say, as the rocks near my fall, and as I turn around to face my demise-
I realize now that this is my call, another end to reprise.

I wonder when my mind started to slow. So full of ideas, thoughts and feelings. It felt as though an excess of all. But now? Crickets are louder in the dead of night. The drops of rain on concrete seem deafening in comparison. Yet, now, the moods sink in without reason. There is no direction I can point and exclaim. Only a mirror, and when I find myself pointing, it is at the reflection that stares back at me. That face that stares back and judges so. The eyes that lock into my own as if destined to, with an abyss of black beneath as if the depths of water I imagine myself sinking into.

I wish I knew the words, that could tumble from my tongue. Flowing out as if birds, to explain what I call numb. Yet, as I don the pencil, I used to know so well. My mind once a stencil, static, my thoughts begin to repel. Many soar through everyday, but as I grip the pencil, they all fade away. So many words I should say, but would it do right or cause dismay? A fragile sill, carrying flowers. Tumbles and fell, as rain pours for hours. I am but an ant in that storm. Proving that I can’t and it’s the norm. Yet, when my eyes are relieved from night’s crust. It’s waterfall cries, as yesterday’s thoughts turn to dust.

Pitter, Patter
The ground, I splatter
A mess, I gather
With my mind, I’d rather

Pitter, Patter
Do I even matter?
My thoughts, all slather
Do you mind if I blather?

Pitter, Patter
My heart may shatter
A fight without noise
It’s not like it’s my choice

Pitter, Patter
My teeth, they clatter
The looks from all
I wish I were small
A mouse hidden in the wall
One face in a mall
A stranger in a stall
Faceless on a call

Pitter, Patter
Moods, they scatter
I cannot grasp one
Please, let me be done
Perhaps, with the sun
I’ll have then, won
Another re-run
Yet, a remote won’t let me skip
Even when I dip
Stuck with this grippe
A question, a quip
It’s time that I skip
Or I might just flip
My brain starts to chip

Pitter, Patter
My friend, what is the matter?
Can I not be left alone?
In the one place that should be my throne?
My head, my own?
Does it really need to be shown?
Please, someone, throw me a bone.
For these moods, I am prone.
Dopamine, on a loan.
From pills that are given.
The path, that I’ve driven.
Perhaps, forgiven.
The years, hopefully I’ve thriven.

Pitter, Patter
My life, on a platter.
The smile I wear I’d wish to be seen.
They’ll think that I’m clean.
So I don’t make a scene.
Understanding what I mean.
My words hopefully glean.
Otherwise, I’ll go back to the screen.
Not making much sense.
Gibberish, I dispense.
Feelings larger than intense.
My family in suspense.
My brain the expense.
Everyone back to tense.

Pitter, Patter
Either this, or the latter.
I’ll continue, once more.
Deep breaths, as I swore.
Done again, as before.

When, oh when, did the stranger stare back.
A stare, a gaze, vision without lack.
When, oh when, did the mirror meet my eyes.
Slathered and rinsed, weathered in lies.
When, oh when, did the drought appear.
A pour, a dump, then dry, I fear.
When, oh when, did my years start to shift.
School, then work, and now surviving, I drift.
When, oh when, did my dreams start to end.
My mind, my will, my all only bend.

Moments like this, my mind compares to a crowd fleeing the scene of a crime. Tens of hundreds of voices swirling in a mix of reactions. I am but a whisper in these moments. Hidden away from those that are more intense. A single letter in a paragraph. A needle in a haystack. Was I ever made to be found in such conditions? Would you not too, give in to such noise? Another shout to recount later. An argument retraced as the sands of time sift through my frail fingers… A fragment of what I am, yet remembered as a whole. A price to pay for giving in. A perception that may very well be correct in their eyes… and maybe that’s just what I’ve always been. The noise deep inside.