It is cold here, standing naked and alone.
I watch the skimming stone fly over deep and dark waters,
Seeing the same ripples over and over again.
They reach the shore, but do not penetrate the deeper realms,
While the depths continue to rush in the dark places.
Moments. Moments. More Moments.
I have memorized the scenes, artfully embellishing the details
To dull the razor’s edge of this complete darkness.
These dissociative nightmares boil from the deepest places,
Reliving moments from some other soul,
As if an unfamiliar puppeteer pulls the strings beyond the moments.
I exist mostly out of phase, somewhere in between the harmonics,
Dancing over corrupted frequencies that time cannot treat.
My creative expressions act as bandages over the wounds,
Empty, but whole.
And yet, emerging from the shadows, there is light.
It may be too intense to bear, my eyes adjusting slowly,
But there is always hope.
Even when I feel nothing matters, everything matters.
The frequencies emerge from deep within,
And though the cold remains, the ripples eventually touch the shore.