A gray that consumes me –
A breaking, a snapping, no cracking, no sound –
Pressure within, a boiling point with no spill-over –
A rust on the inside that sheds like a tear –
A burning sensation that has lasted a year. . .
I can’t feel much, but it’s all overwhelming.
It’s less like a swimming and more like a drowning.
Why did I leave? Why did I leave?
Over and over again, I keep asking,
And it’s less like a scream.
Whispers of hatred fill this space.
And all I can do is sit here in silence.
I sweat. I fear. I don’t know why.
I have a sneaking suspicion the Enemy is here,
But that’s it; that’s all. It’s all I can say. . .
If I said anymore, my muscles would ache.
So, I sit. I wait.
And I wait. . .
My mouth may not be moving, but I’ve
Had this conversation ten times.
If I opened my mouth, it’d sound like a whine.
I run. I flee. I can’t get away.
I drink. I smoke. I wear a frown.
But once I get out, I’m still in shell-shock.
Don’t hope. Don’t dream. Don’t trust in a lock.
Maybe someday you’ll see –
Maybe you’ll see why my shoulders slump.
You’ll probably understand why I step away.
You might get why I’ve stopped –
I’ve stopped everything, and yet I don’t drop.
It’s because they’re watching my every move.