Tuesday, January 15, 2013

The Drowners

No, you are wrong,
he told me.
People don't always
leave their lives behind
because they are weak
or afraid of a fight.
Don't call them all
cowards.
Unless you want to be
called a fool.
For sometimes they
are just drowning.
Men and women
drowning in pure,
unadulterated sadness.
Sometimes
it's locked away.
This pitch black sea.
Plugged up by some
things or someone
they love.
But those things can
often turn out to be
round pegs
in square holes.
Just not the right fit,
they let the sadness
leak in.
And the someones?
There are lives to
be led, aren't there?
Lives without leaky
sadness faucets?
And so it fills up
the rooms of the mind,
flowing incessantly
through gashes, slashes.
Thrashing
like helpless limbs
without air.
Filling up, up, up.
Like a black sea
on a dreamless, infinite,
poison purple night.