Drowning Schedule
Wrote this somewhat arrogant poem; the crossed out lines represent the logical voice in their head that they reject.
———
What do I do?
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Life has me
-
In its grasps—
𝙸̶ ̶𝚜̶𝚎̶𝚎̶ ̶𝚗̶𝚘̶ ̶𝚎̶𝚜̶𝚌̶𝚊̶𝚙̶𝚎̶.̶
There is no escape.
-
There's just a crushing weight bearing upon me,
Pulling every thread of my hair,
Collapsing inward my temples,
Pressing against the forefront of my head,
Clinging to the lids of my eyes—
Trying to pull them down,
As a drowning man may cling to the metal guardrail,
Whether it is colder than death
Or more burning than the facets of false hells.
-
It pulls down on my arms,
A paperclip pressing my appendages to the floor,
The disconcerting feeling of arms grasping at the calves of my legs—
Pulling,
Dully,
Down,
To make me fall.
-
The overwhelm of the many problems I am expected to deal with—
The fact that everything is expected to be done by specific times.
Why should I listen?
Why should I conform to their rules and standards?
They weigh me down.
Yet regardless of them, I can't fly.
Wingless, complaining about the things that take their toll—
Who am I?
-
Forget that—
I am speaking
Of the weight of the simple,
Banal problems
That ail everyone—
Not who I am.
-
The problems that afflict everyone.
𝙽̶𝚘̶𝚝̶ ̶𝚎̶𝚟̶𝚎̶𝚛̶𝚢̶𝚘̶𝚗̶𝚎̶ ̶𝚐̶𝚘̶𝚎̶𝚜̶ ̶𝚝̶𝚑̶𝚛̶𝚘̶𝚞̶𝚐̶𝚑̶ ̶𝚝̶𝚑̶𝚒̶𝚜̶.̶
Everyone goes through this?
Really?
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Its a curse,
A shackle that has nails lining it's innards,
Pressing into my arms and legs, drawing blood—
A rigid, tight rope to my neck,
Preparedly tout so as to facilitate my death with deftness,
Such that at the slightest hint of retaliation,
I fall.
-
I fall,
I fall,
I fall.
𝙸̶ ̶𝚌̶𝚘̶𝚞̶𝚕̶𝚍̶ ̶𝚜̶𝚝̶𝚊̶𝚗̶𝚍̶.̶
I fall.
-
I wake, I eat,
I work, I eat,
I work, I go home,
I work, I eat,
I shower, then I sleep.
Then again.
And again.
-
𝙽̶𝚘̶𝚝̶ ̶𝚎̶𝚟̶𝚎̶𝚛̶𝚢̶𝚘̶𝚗̶𝚎̶ ̶𝚐̶𝚘̶𝚎̶𝚜̶ ̶𝚝̶𝚑̶𝚛̶𝚘̶𝚞̶𝚐̶𝚑̶ ̶𝚝̶𝚑̶𝚒̶𝚜̶.̶
Everyone goes through this,
Some are happy without effort.
Others cling to the small things that make them happy,
The things to be greatful for.
Or maybe reminisce on nice memories.
I admit, I've had fun many times in the past.
In the present,
I might find myself engaging in an entertaining conversation.
But the moment the present is past,
It fades from me.
Lest it be the despairing half of the residue,
It is disposed of,
Lovelessly.
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My memory is poor,
To state so blandly.
I cannot remember well, save the things I distaste.
I can remember the taste of over-sugared coffee.
I can remember the hatred I felt toward some people who demeaned me
And damaged others' images of me.
But I do not remember the joy I felt, talking to friends.
Only that we spoke, and I had fun.
But what did that fun feel like?
I'm uncertain.
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The most recent seconds become history to me—
An abstract art I fail to interpret.
To those few who might have thought something they did with me was memorable—
Fun, thrilling, or maybe even impossible to forget—
Sorry for not remembering
What you held so dear.
Though I'm getting ahead of myself—
How could someone feel such a thing for some memory they shared with me?
Unlikely.
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I can be thankful for being alive,
Or having less weight than others,
Or the friends I still have.
But what if being alive, in my purview,
Is a normality?
As isn't it in all's?
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Funny, how people might trip over unusual wording.
Funny, how I can have a lighter load than others,
Yet still be pained by it.
Who thought counting blessings rids you of the curses?
So they hurt too, alright.
So they have less friends, or are mocked by colleagues—
Alright.
That doesn't change what I face.
They hurt too— so what?
I still feel pain.
Nothing changed.
Curse me alone,
Or curse them all—
I find no recluse,
Thus I fall.
Again, I fall.
-
So I have friends, whIlst others might not—
So what?
Everything is temporary.
𝙴̶𝚗̶𝚓̶𝚘̶𝚢̶ ̶𝚒̶𝚝̶ ̶𝚠̶𝚑̶𝚒̶𝚕̶𝚎̶ ̶𝚒̶𝚝̶ ̶𝚕̶𝚊̶𝚜̶𝚝̶𝚜̶.̶
Everything disappears.
𝚃̶𝚑̶𝚎̶𝚗̶ ̶𝚑̶𝚘̶𝚕̶𝚍̶ ̶𝚒̶𝚝̶ ̶𝚌̶𝚕̶𝚘̶𝚜̶𝚎̶ ̶𝚠̶𝚑̶𝚒̶𝚕̶𝚎̶ ̶𝚒̶𝚝̶'̶𝚜̶ ̶𝚜̶𝚝̶𝚒̶𝚕̶𝚕̶ ̶𝚝̶𝚑̶𝚎̶𝚛̶𝚎̶.̶
Thank God, this pain will too.
But friends disappear.
𝚃̶𝚑̶𝚎̶𝚢̶ ̶𝚌̶𝚘̶𝚖̶𝚎̶ ̶𝚊̶𝚗̶𝚍̶ ̶𝚐̶𝚘̶;̶ ̶𝚀̶𝚞̶𝚒̶𝚝̶ ̶𝚍̶𝚠̶𝚎̶𝚕̶𝚕̶𝚒̶𝚗̶𝚐̶ ̶𝚘̶𝚗̶ ̶𝚝̶𝚑̶𝚎̶ ̶𝚒̶𝚗̶𝚎̶𝚟̶𝚒̶𝚝̶𝚊̶𝚋̶𝚕̶𝚎̶
One, whom I held so close to my figure—
Albeit not my heart, as he knows not this ail in its whole—
Is leaving, just end of this spring.
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Ironic, isn't it?
The flowers come greet us,
As we prepare for our consorting with despair—
Outfitting ourselves in black attire
In commemoration of the joy we felt as children—
Parting from many we love,
And met with the expectation that a week's time will suffice—
Be it school, or work, or college, or work—
They all hold such high expectations,
That I haven't the slightest clue
How to perform less than that.
Also, by the end of it I only lost, with nothing to gain.
That friend is gone—
The only one whom I could remotely consider close.
So now what?
What friends are there to be thankful for?
Then again, I'm not the subject of others' amusements, so I suppose It's not too bad.
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It's not too bad.
Nonetheless, it is bad.
Terrible, even.
Yet I am meant to dismiss it as nothing more—
Not the worst, I've seen worse,
That's that.
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"Why can't you just be happy?"
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That damn voice in my head.
The one that brings up memories I could have sworn dissolved so long ago,
𝙸̶𝚗̶ ̶𝚝̶𝚑̶𝚎̶ ̶𝚊̶𝚌̶𝚒̶𝚍̶ ̶𝚘̶𝚏̶ ̶𝚖̶𝚢̶ ̶𝚘̶𝚠̶𝚗̶ ̶𝚖̶𝚊̶𝚔̶𝚒̶𝚗̶𝚐̶.̶
It brought up that memory again, too.
That other friend, who made me so happy talking to—
The one I remember.
The bad, and the good.
-
I remember when I brought pastries over, and had a conversation with her—
It was all idle talk— absolute vanity—
It wasn't productive in the slightest.
-
Still, I enjoyed it.
-
I loved those times,
Then I accidentally loved her—
Overstepped my boundaries,
Then it all fell apart.
Again, it all fell.
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Still, though, those memories persist.
Oddly, I find myself comforted by those past fragments—
Those little anecdotes of my life that focused on what little color was left ̶a̶f̶t̶e̶r̶ ̶a̶l̶l̶ ̶m̶y̶ ̶e̶f̶f̶o̶r̶t̶ ̶t̶o̶ ̶b̶l̶o̶t̶c̶h̶ ̶i̶t̶ ̶a̶l̶l̶ ̶o̶u̶t̶.
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I love those memories.
They haven't fallen,
And they're so kind to me—
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Those spikes concreted into the base of my neck—
They ease my mind despite such nails.
They make me happy despite the crushing weight
That never leaves.
It barely constitutes enough
To lift me up—
To briefly take my mind off the hail,
But it's enough, to lighten the load and shoulder the blame—
Despite it a part of me.
-
That weight still hasn't left me.
Those cold hands, attempting to intertwine fingers
With my calves?
Pressing their mold into my flesh, scorchingly cold,
Cruelly afflicting me with frost and flame alike?
Still there.
The man pulling against my eye lids,
Begging for his life to be saved from the water below?
Still there.
The tree roots grasping at my head, crushing inward my temples?
They're all still there, acting in tandem—
A concert of man and nature,
Deafening to the ears of a single individual
As by others it remains unheard.
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Everything good meets an end,
But evil leaves no time to mend.
Thus, I can only curse it all—
In vain; No results— a pointless cause.
Thus, I can only talk about my problems,
Which others face—
Equally, or more—
𝙾̶𝚛̶ ̶𝚖̶𝚊̶𝚢̶𝚋̶𝚎̶ ̶𝚕̶𝚎̶𝚜̶𝚜̶—
Thus I fail— broken, unbloodied,
My mind still torn.
-
I have the choice to climb back up.
I have memories that remain despite my erasing.
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It pulls me down like hardening mud—
It clings to me without leaving—
It won't leave—
It weighs down my weary eyes—
But it's no longer a pain.
It's no longer a collapsing force,
No longer just a weight;
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Coldly warm,
An embrace without love—
I'm drowning— I think.
The world is growing around me,
Like I'm in the corner of a place far larger than I.
The ache in my neck contorts in every direction—
Each time I remember what happened when I loved,
The water grows darker,
More viscous—
Black honey—
So terribly sweet...
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I'm lagging behind myself,
I see myself in front of me,
Walking,
Looking back at me;
As I stare into my eyes,
I suddenly begin to choke on the air.
-
Then I slip,
Falling through the ground.
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I struggle to stay awake.
Wasn't I falling?
I struggle to endure the weight;
My eyes are growing heavy.
I struggle, without a reason—
The cold flames invade my lungs—
I struggle, but I don't know if it's in vain.
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I have to find the exit to this labyrinth, submersed within this smothering place—
Yet I find that I am drowning.
Still awake, so I'll attempt to struggle free from this maze—
Until I drown before another waking.