Muck

Hi,

Hope you're having a good week.

I've had this scheduled for quite some time. I can't recall when it was written. Years ago, probably in a bout of depression. Sometimes I write as form of catharsis. It's not seeking pity. In the moment, it's just for me, trying to work out how I'm feeling.


Anchored

I scratch at the air

Which chokes me

Tar like shadows

Heaving at my legs

And I’m sinking

Ever sinking

The surface

No longer a memory

Merely an idea

Out of reach.

A heaving, cloying pit

With no end

No solace

Only the deep rejection

and ill formed assumptions

Like death

A new but darkened existence

Perhaps I died already

And remain slowly dragging

Through self-aware muck

To catch up.







Have a good week.

Ps With Christmas coming, please consider one of my books. Low prices, inscribed any way you wish. Makes for a great present!



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