Sometimes I stop and just observe the current and everything else that either flows with it or go against it.
In that moment of stillness, I wonder why I’m here and if there’s anyone else noticing me in this messed-up world.
I make a splash and see that despite the hullabaloo, I have made ripples. I wonder if anyone will ever be affected by these tiny waves. I know it would be like asking for the moon to believe that it will.
I watch myself sink deeper into the sea.
In a few minutes, I shall be below see level.
My fears are real. They come for me at night — when the world is silent but undead. They sit on the foot of my bed and watch me watch them. Sometimes, they speak in a language that although makes no sense in my head, is clearly the same language my heart uses.
My fears are real. They do not harm me when they stay with me but they break me in pieces before the sun breaks the stillness of the night. And they carry with them each piece when the moon has had enough watching.
I am fading. My fears are real. My Self, is only the essence of who I am. I am scattered everywhere and is nowhere here at the same time. My fears are real — even more than me.
To eat your name for dinner means I wake up with the Ocean’s rage in the crevice of my guts. The movement inside crashes into my organs. My heart, reverberates an incomprehensible dissonance of beats and rhythm. My lungs, slowed down by Chaos and Confusion, dance like little girls with two left feet. one. two. three — a waltz gone too fast.
To eat your name for dinner means I hold on to my sheets and cry out in pain as little stars escape my mouth. These stars do not fly out gracefully but fall on my sheets like defeated warriors. I shiver lightly from fatigue and nausea. I do not count theses celestial beauties instead I abandon them without a choice.
Another wave of movement inside me forces me to curl up into a ball. Pieces of the moon in its sheer silvery sheen make its grand exit out in such haste that my tears were not able escape my eyes in time.
A splitting pain and emptiness inside me gives birth to a strange light that stays with me and lingers… long enough to blind me.
I eat your name for dinner and awake throwing up the universe.
It takes either too much self-trust or just plain stupidity to be able to put yourself out there. And whilst I ponder on whether I do not trust myself or whether I do not have much stupidity in my pocket, Time kills itself.
All I know though is when I am forced to put myself out there, my hands get clammy and my heart knocks on my ribcage like a mad man’s desperate plea to reclaim his freedom.
The only consolation to all these hullabaloo is Sylvia Plath’s words – now mine, ringing in my ears as I try to stop my heart from potentially breaking free.
I am. I am. I am.