I have no story to tell
I am now empty and holding a vast space within
My desire to tell stories through art is somehow deeply rooted in my childhood
I grow old and apart from everything I ever held dear
And I hear in the back of my mind the rush of water
The rush of water when looked down upon from a bridge
The rush of water filling up my ears and lungs as I remain submerged in it
And I wave and I wave and I wave
Not for help, not out of panic or fear
But from the release of drowning in the lake of life without water
To be sinking and drowning in a river, finally breathing
Finally breathing, feeling my heart lift, adrift and afloat
Who cares if the mortal body meets the depths?
Who cares if slush and murk and sharp rusty metal rakes it into shreds?
I am free now. Free. Free. Free. Free. Free. The word cawing in my head
Seagulls and hawks and vultures circling overhead like uninvited guests to my party
Birds of prey that would’ve given me company had I been laying on land
A meagre feast of great sorrows as they would’ve picked me off in little chunks
Beaks pecking and claws ripping my innards out, drooling over the dripping juices
And the little secrets would’ve crawled out on their spindly legs
Maybe even grown a stinger or two to kill me again
But these were probably just crows and sparrows partially burning from the heat
And I was here in the coolness of the river, water entering and exiting my sight
The drumming in my eyes grew louder till it numbed and popped.
Still rushing and gushing, the water soothed, washing away the salt in my eyes
And to think that for so long I’d been wary of water bodies
But then again wait till night falls and my demons show up throwing tantrums.
But the sun remained hidden from view, resting behind some hill for a while
And I continued drowning, in peace, finally at peace.
I glanced up one last time, birds in their freedom enslaved to the sky.
And I sink and drown listening to the rushing water
Rocking back and forth in the waves
I close my eyes. Free. Free. Free. Free. Free.
Maybe dying isn’t such a bad thing after all…
Maybe dying in a part of my mind is better than doing it for real
And in the silence of the absence of the rushing water
I shut that fantasy, the moment between coming from there to here,
To pulling my head out of water from the soothing rush in my ears
I have no story to tell