My mind is not like a boat.

It does not sail smoothly on the seas I call my brain.

It was not crafted to float atop the waters, that weren’t really ever made to hold safe travels through its midst anyways.

A boat, I think, would be far more enjoyable.

But within the thoughts I often have, enjoyable isn’t often a word that I find myself coming across.

Most solutions I try to incorporate in order to bring about better outcomes just sink.

And when I’m there at the bottom of those oceans, I sometimes think that no one could ever really find me if I wasn’t coming back up on my own.

So maybe I’m the boat.

I wouldn’t know. There’s not an instruction manual for these things.

But I can’t complain.

There at the bottom there’s no bone-breaking currents and mind-numbing cold.

It’s a little cold still, I suppose.

But it doesn’t really feel like much of anything at all.

Nothing feels nice.

Just not for forever.

Because after a while, I can’t tell the difference between a blank, supposed-to-be novel page and what’s going on around me.

And then I may just as well be dead but still breathing.

That just seems expensive.