My Thoughts

My thoughts are an ocean;    
I’m drowning and sinking as if an anchor is pulling me down,    
Underneath the waves of anxiety, into the abyss that is my mind.    
I’m tied up in my own chains, choking on salty water.
My silent screams of sorrow just echo around my lonesome.
Sinking further and further under, a rock to the bottom,
The surface just a glint.    
And the fish look on, thinking I’m one of them,    
When in reality I can’t swim like them, I can’t even breathe like them.
I’m fighting myself, at war with my mind,    
And when you’re on either side, the blood is twice as thick.    
My lungs swell, filling with bloody water,    
Threatening to explode like a grenade,
In the bomb shelter that is my body.    
Smothered in gunfire, staggering with wounds,    
Torn apart by knives, suffocated in smoke,
How much further can I swim?    
My dragons are burning me down, my daemons are scarring me.    
My mind is a ravaged and wasted battlefield.    
There’s a tsunami on the horizon,    
And I can’t fight or swim fast enough,
But the fish can, they’re just a blur in the water.    
Left alone to fight the waters myself, swallowed up by the waves,
I’m gasping for air.    
Gasping for air as I walk the tightrope between life and death.
Praying and wishing that I don’t fall,
Just hoping that someone is there to catch me if I do,
Longing that someone is there watching from ashore.
But they’re the reason that I’m drowning in the first place,
They caused the endless attrition in my mind.    
Because they promised me this and assured me that,
But it wasn’t long before they just turned their back.
They didn’t hold their arms open long enough,
But maybe they couldn’t. Maybe I deserve this,
The blade in my back, the water in my lungs.
Maybe I’m too much of this and too little of that,    
Did I break my promises too?    
No – this war is between me and myself,
Because this time I am my worst enemy.
But what do I believe, my frowning heart, or my smiling face?    
My hammered thoughts in the rain, or my calm between the storms?    
My sodden bomb shelter on the sea bed, or my struggling on the sea surface?    
Does it really make a difference?    
I’m still fighting, holding back the attacks,
I’m still clawing at the surface glint, balancing on the tightrope splint.    
Yes – it does make a difference,
Because I’m done fighting a battle that will never end,    
Done challenging my hostile mind,
Done sketching twisted scars on my body.    
Maybe you’re one of the few, aware of my suffocation, watching my fall,    
But time to turn away, please don’t watch, I beg you don’t follow,    
Because you won’t like what you see.    
Since maybe it’s easier to jump from the tightrope,  
Easier just to swim to the bottom,  
To just let my mind win this bloody fucking war.