The question is evident, the answers are pending.
Arms are weak. Legs are numb. Mind is racing with complete nothingness.
The day is hopeless. I cannot get up. But to remain still, would mean to succumb to the darkness. To be taken by the title wave. To rot in this nightmare.
There are better options, sure. Start the day, plaster on a smile – perhaps it will make its way to the heart and cause a tinge of happiness.
Lay here dying. Unable to move, disease-ridden and fear stricken.
Be consumed by the lost battles, which are the invisible victories.
Push the door closed, and lock the people with love on the outside rather than on the in.
The tug-o-war is tiring, the rope burning in my hands.
The thrust toward the core of my stomach is powerful and beautiful.
But, your thrust back is stronger and filled with pain as my body collapses in front of my stance.
Love seeps and slides, under the small doorframe crack.
Beside you it lies, still and patient.
Heave, weep, clench, grit, squirm. Routine. Monotonous. Your life.
Lash out, pull in, yearn for the one beside you.
Wait for the darkness, the title wave, the nightmare to take over again.
Sun creeps in, your eyes flutter.
Another day, change the pattern – rise.
A smile is on that face, a natural one which does make its way.
The door is open, but it is vacant.
No one waits on the other side.
So, throw it in my face. Cover me with red ink – highlighting my mistakes.
Three slaps to my wrists, and one to my face.
I loved you at your deepest. At your darkest.
Who can be prepared for such suffering? Not you, not I.
To dream to turn those victories visible.
To reach out for a hand that grasps, not slaps.
Unconditional, the one beside you.
So get up.