I’m sick of these rivers and

Their endless gait,

I tire of these winding channels

And their relentless rate,

Water that never calms unless

Bled dry,

Falls that never pause and

Take up most of my time,

Things that make me feel

Small even though I’m not,

Racing channels and never

Ceasing waterfalls of thought,

I shutter to think of how a

Simple trickle can hold me

Still,

A trickle that stings and burns,

Makes me ill,

It’s a maze of water with no air

To breathe,

An endless stream set in

Motion that I can’t leave,

I know I don’t stand alone in

These stranded ocean moments,

I know I might get angry, and if

You’re cought in the middle, my

Condolences,

I don’t mean to be a bother, and

Perhaps you think of me not as

One,

One wish would be that this

Stream would finally be done,

Because this is a river of no

Escape,

I am in a prison of my own mind,

Steadfastly held in place,

Of course, I do have moments

Of sun and color,

But this is not a poem of

Happiness—this is a poem of

Another,

And she goes by many names,

But mostly hopelessness, but

Maybe a deeper kind,

And she keeps me locked up

No matter how hard I try,

Walking feels like floating and

Moving becomes all too much,

I want not an encouraging word,

Nor reassuring touch,

Sometimes I’m not quite sure

What it is I want,

All comprehension blocked, only

Prickling pulls of nagging pieces

Of thought that haunt,

When the night grows darker, that

Is where I write,

Because when dark becomes

Darker, one’s mind is full and

Tight,

Everything is silent, save for

You,

The day comes slower when

You lie awake, and I’ll believe

That no matter how many

People tell me it’s not true,

It’s real to me, just like this

Water of no escape,

Just like this complex back

And forth rhythm, and this

Never ending crash of a

Wave.