Drowning.

Photo by StormSeeker on Unsplash.

I have been standing too long, never sitting, never waiting so much to lean back in patience.

Never looking to watch, not watch as in see, but see as in watch from an open view.

It is a new day. Every day is a new day.

I do not have the voice but I want to sing.

I want to scream — it is my way of singing.

I haven’t screamed enough. Even if I want to scream or sing, I don’t.

I am just standing still, never waiting to rest.

Always on edge.

I lay my head.

Everything is bare, open upon itself.

Like my head spilling out on the floor.

My brain staining the pavement.

Peace is far from me!

I have decided to throw my baggage.

The first time I’m fully deciding.

For decision itself is an act, a way of knowing who you are.

And I decided.

Decided to throw.

I am a judge.

I like to think I am just.

I never look inward. Never bother with my actions.

Like the huge log, nagging at the soft speck.

Go there, it says. Wait here, it commands. Not caring about its own blindness

Only standing, with my eyes forced open.

Waiting for a new day.

But every day is new.

And I don’t want to be standing anymore.