Marooned
It’s been in my chest since I can remember.
It feels like the piercing cold of late December.
I think I’m going to explode soon.
It feels like the gravity of the whole world.
Not just one moon.
It feels like there’s a super nova brewing in my chest.
I go to sleep feeling it and I wake up without any rest.
I feel like I’ve climbed a thousand mountains, never to receive the joy of reaching the summits.
My hope for relief, everyday plummets.
I am weary.
Here’s my theory:
That in death I will find relief.
In this life, everywhere I turn, I feel and see grief.
So I simply hope that my life is brief.
As beautiful and as fleeting as a fish’s life on a coral reef.
