Everything is heightened as if this cold front brought things into perspective. There’s a sinking feeling in my stomach when in the past there would be exhilaration, perhaps it’s all the pills getting me down and interacting in some way that deviates from the norm like a statistical significance. There is the dark and there is the light and sometimes one takes over the other as if to give the other the rest it requires to return more strongly. There can’t be much like whittling away the pieces layers to leave space for the art underneath created by steady hands. At times all is not well and she will be difficult. Terse words should be enough to express the extent of the depths within. Maybe I’m less patient because I don’t feel well and I’m a bit unhealthy or maybe it’s because I’m tired of being the repetitive waves crashing against the shore to soak tiny pieces of sand created artificially. Be dark, unflinching, tense, and done if you need to be. She will be.
Waves slowly sweep me in, solidifying me into rock. With each successive crash I am built larger until eventually what will be left of me is a mountain underneath the sea.
Inside my chest flow waves of sorrow waiting to be freed at the sound of your name. They will inundate the streets of neurons within my head and strike lapping conversations with the thunderous sky that blankets our connected-disconnected cities. Those very same waves are filling up the trenches of my chest dug by your hands. I’ll probably never see you tomorrow, again.