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Rusty Spear
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Spunky Fresh You wonder why
your boat will not stay afloat
Sailing on only three wheels
Or often deeming the dawn
so utterly wrong
as the only time that makes you
feel real.
Aside from an absent captain, adding details to the scene,
The tranquil seas we sail
Have collected from this vessel
only due to the constant leakage.
Poorly constructed for the purpose intended,
Spouting water from multiple holes on all sides of the peeling paint
I sit in the corner alone, intensely digging escape roots
I am intenionally Increasing this inevitable sinking
That my inner is seeking
the fulfillment of.
A rusty spear in hand
And an insane need for destruction
Fuel me.
Tearing apart the hull
Leaving no room for possibility of survival now
There is no fight response left.
Yet the question lies so prominent
The curiosity is why
Why there appears to be no deep plummet
As if a deeper resistance lies present still within.
Not willing to dim it's light just quite yet.
