I say! Why do you grip so hard, that way? Of what, is there left to be afraid? Let the waves elope with your empty remains. They erode your foothold, anyway.
They mosh, unaware of their own might. Hypnotizing. Shore-ward swallowing.
They storm me, ganging up me! What's become of the home that supported me? They spit me back after drowning me then slip away dragging their fingers behind them.
But you expel the salt, sink down lower than the undertow would bring you. You just don't seem to see how returning to them is so far beneath you.
But then how come my corpse
It rises up? And it is my soul that has sunk?
Hear! That sound rings out across the land, over or made to seduce man? Listen!
The oohs and aahs of funeral spectators, death admirators, as they bathe in ritual memories and fake tears. Life's underrated. Jaded ans hastred isolate you so abandon your fears.
And spread my ashes like a bouquet of seeds. Far up, far out... to show you what I'm made of. Kill the parasite in every co-dependent brain fallen slave to the pull of the waves.
The pull of the waves; the natural decay of all that is made is how redemption is paid.
Say, Dickinson, who do you blame for you romantic death whish? And does it remain true that angry winds feel like a lover's breath? That's why you grip so hard.
No! It's simply condition keeping me locked in! I could escape if I knew how to swim!
Look... feel... you're aided. Wind, sun and strangers have come to guide you so the choice is clear. We'll spread your ashes like a bouquet of seeds. far up, far out...
So show us what you're made of. We'll kill the parasite in every co-dependent brain fallen slave to the pull of the waves
Playfully badgering, casually capturing. To escape chaos is to sink - not to swim.
You say to release the stranglehold keeping me safely beneath. But, as sea foam rises up, tickles my lips and skins inside, doesn't the choice of rupture paths become a matter of pride? When I've struggled so hard ti excel, why is it so unappealing to survive?
