June 15, 2012
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Fear Diving
I’ve been diving, hard.
The mounting pressure popped me in the ears, hitting the space behind my brows,
The ocean pushed into me as an army, desperate to penetrate,
The salt coerced enlistment of my bodily tears, joining forces to blind me,
and depth’s darkness grew as it fed on hope.
I dove harder,
because I saw him sinking,
and I thought I saw his arm wave at me.
It could’ve been the careless undulation of water,
but what if.
I wouldn’t be able to live anyway.
More pressure, more ocean, more salt, more darkness,
but maybe his lips were moving at me.
It doesn’t have to be seen for it to be possible,
so I dove, because I could die just to know that was true.
But desperately deluding fear can’t fight off exhaustion forever.
The currents turned, I gave to it, looked to the surface, and saw what I’ve known all along.
He had let me chase his shadow.
He watched me sink for his sake from above.
I want to sink again,
this time for my sake,
because no one will save a suicidal in love,
diving towards death for shadows,
but unlike a freshly drowned body,
mine can’t fight the density of the ocean anymore.
It floats face down
and rejoins the sky in shame.
