I have ridden this metaphor a hundred times Talked of riding bellicose swells Locking emotions into settled chests Hiding in the shadows of clouds I have talked of unrest Social anxiety And paternal problems I have watched the moon and blankness of space Without waiting for sun rise I have juggled Swapped ok with I'm fine, I'm fine with ok When all I want is to say help me. I have hidden my cries behind lines of self-absorption Dangled subtle hinting to a world not listening I have swam And I have swam But my lungs are now swelling under the weight of feeling And I am going under. Drowning in the murky depths of my own history. I used to enjoy the white noise. Its waterfall of escapism The beauty of its confusion Encasing me in its static stronghold There was almost a comfort to its four walls I could bounce within their black and white ideology, Simplicity, only two strands of life to care for
Side A and Side B
See more of Phillip Knight's poetry and upcoming releases at Fishbowl Publishing