It comes in waves.
It comes in waves and drags me out to the ocean and leaves me there to drown.
It comes in waves and I don’t know how I’m in the water because just a second ago I was planted surely on the ground.
It comes in waves and pulls me under the surface until I can’t see.
It comes in tides,
controlled only by the moon,
coming forth,
like a swing.
A swing that won’t stop lifting higher,
forcing me to and fro.
“Stop, I want to get off now. No. No. NO.”
No.
The one syllable that rings in my mind.
Every time I grab a blade, it chimes and chimes.
Forget about saying it when you ask if I’m fine.
But I am not.
I’m drowning quicker, and swinging higher.
I’m out of control.
And they’re sending me off.
I’m on freak patrol.
They’re standing there,
“Goodbye”, as if I’m going to my grave.
And as I turn around one last time,
they all
start
to wave.