Waves of melancholy
wash over me
like stormy seas.
I beg for sunlight on the horizon.
One tiny ray of light
to warm the icy cold of sorrow.
I need hope for tomorrow,
But that voice is growing weak.
Barely a whisper left,
How can I help it speak?
I’m drowning in my sadness,
pushed down by madness.
Will I ever get a firm grip on the rescue boat?
Im really struggling just to stay afloat.
There’s a light on the horizon,
but I can’t tell if I’m dreaming
or my mind is scheming.
I’ve just got to swim to the light,
somehow it has to be alright.
About the Creator
Josey Pickering
Autistic, non-binary, queer horror nerd with a lot to say.
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More stories from Josey Pickering and writers in Poets and other communities.
The Lesions of Devotion
Every day I set myself down on the freshly cut lawn and strip myself bare. I take my guitar and finger the frets and pick at the strings, listening for dissonance. My life is dissonance. I twist the tuning pegs until each string sounds bright. Then I kneel, calves pointing behind me, kneecaps facing forward. All exposed to the breeze. I close my eyes and play the melody.
By Paul Stewart6 days ago in Fiction
Comments (5)
Damn
Great use of the storm metaphor. So vivid.
There is light and hope at the end, we’ll find it together
Nice work!
There was a satisfaction.