Preserve My Life In Shambles

Preserve My Life In Shambles

Art-‘Storm Sea with Blazing Wreck’-Joseph Mallard William Turner-1775-1851

Paranoia encapsulates the transient moments of silence.

My mind sanctions, but brief solace in tranquility || quickly conceding- just the calm before the storm.

I brace to defend, against the ruin of inevitably. Seeking shelter as my umbrella is fairly worn.

And on those bitter days, I feel my center take a lashing. My very core, exudes thick tumultuous concern.

Deceived again, by thoughts of peace || a des-per-ate delusion. Poetic reoccurrences, perhaps, I’ll never learn.

These are the days I cannot muster up a smile. The one I use to hide the darkened shadows of my soul.

My mask, it slips and falls to waste, cracking my foundation. Exposing all the fissures, where I once appeared as whole.

As the storm begins to settle, from downpour to light drizzle; I find that I remain, still drenched, immersed in burdens past.

Each time my mask repairs itself, more clearly artificial. Heavily encumbered- by the most mundane of tasks.

Even on the brightest days, my sunny disposition dwindles by comparison- obstructed by the fog.

My sodden outlook weighs me down, nadir, and even deeper. It takes a toll upon my soul. How can one remain?

The pain I bear, to pull each breath, my force begins to taper. Each particle of energy is vital to sustain.

Life is a quicksand. Eager and insatiable. Swallowing my essence, and feasting on my drive.

I fight the siren’s voice, inside the void, as it sings “KEEP HER” then madly, deeply I descend, despite the will-to stay alive.

Expending every piece of me, the chaos of emotion. Actions meant to circumvent, my absolute demise.

Instead of course ironically, set paradox in motion. Masticated motive, yet, this feels a bit contrived.

In pursuit to find, a different ending to the story, one must remember the mistakes from lives of past.

Each effort with intent to save, the life unknown-I wanted. Without exception, drew me closer to the end.

My spirits ruptured, there’s a clear appending pressure. Buried alive by life itself, neglected of its pleasure.

My oxygen depletes, chest heaves, the life I knew is over. I inhale deep, afeared, unsure which breaths’ my last.

Ending in an aching plea, for life || preserved in shambles. Unburdened, by the damage from the tragic storms of past.