Saturday, 2 June 2012
Sometimes I can't decide if I'm waving or drowning.
It's like a drowning.
Sometimes it's the slow motion muffled drowning where you're under water and have no hope of surfacing yet you still fight it, you still struggle and everything is blurred and dissolving before your eyes. A mesmorising distortion. You hold your breath and wait to sink, eyes wide shut. It looks almost pretty yet essentially hopeless. A morbid fluid dance that ends only in darkness. Thoughts strangle and twine around you, memories swell then fracture and you're locked in silence. A deadly serenity. Then you just stop fighting it and you let it take you. Seconds feel like years and there is a beauty in giving up. It's no longer defeat it's a dark, isolated tranquillity. It doesn't hurt down here. You can't see me.
The strange days have come and you're gone
Other times it takes you unaware, like the sudden grabbing motion of a hand locking around your ankle, dragging you violently and quickly underneath the water without warning. There's no dance, no drawn out descent it's a rapid inarticulate spiralling as vehement as it is vicious. The clarity is brutal and alarming, jagged sharp details. You're not ready. You don't want this. You can't stop this. You're drowning and thrashing yet people smile and wave back. I'm not waving. I'm drowning.
Either way, you can't control this.
She's lost control again.