Underdogs and Tidal Waves

Southside of Mellow
2011-11-14 04:12:10 (UTC)

Songs for Seasickness

And I feel almost as if I am navigating a ghost ship, or one that's supposed to be.
I am shaking from feeling ill and cold, fraught with nausea from yesterday's indulgences along with tomorrow's battle.

I produce some possible last words.
It's like waltzing on champagne glasses.
My head lurches and reels back.
I tell myself that I will absolutely never drink again.
That's a fine lie for now.

But as I lie here nauseated, I try to connect their faces in the darkness, thinking of that half-crowded theater, and the look of being snared, fleeing for an exit, my secrets spilling forth, and I never want to re-encounter that again.

I will not fall. I will not cave. There is nothing to fall for.
They have had us work like a skeleton crew.
I am supposed to produce boundless emotion, spill my heart across when I've been trying to cut my emotions out for over a week now.

My writing takes me to places that I am reluctant to go to at times. I have to dig somewhere deep, round up emotions, while keeping composed enough to clinically slice through and edit.

And what they will say can define many things.
Perhaps they will tell me that others have been waiting for far longer. That I still have much to try to prove.

And I wonder if I go to sleep tonight and do not wake up tomorrow,
will I be content to say that I was proud of my life thus far?
Did I have a hell of a time while carving out this existence?
Maybe.
I know that there's still a story to be told regardless.
Will I escape sudden death again?

Where does the fine line between arrogance end and acknowledging one's true worth begin?




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