The waves are rocking me inside their crib.
I’m melancholy. Hazy. Unfocused.
I don’t know me – What I do – What I did.
. . .Don’t even recollect when I penned this.
My conscience says, “Pull yourself together.”
“This isn’t the plan for a man to be.”
“No, he should stand tall and face the weather.”
“Raise the sails, stand helm, and conquer the sea.”
But I’m indifferent and apathetic.
I’m stale and calm – Dull and unmoving.
But I’m okay with being pathetic.
I dissolved my resolve in self-soothing.
Where currents flow, they take me where I go.
And when I’m gone, no one will even know.
Chapter 2020. Honestly Self-Aware.
© Jonathan Pines and WritingWithStrangers, 2020, except where noted otherwise. All rights reserved.