***

There's too much worry
attacking me at night
like ghosts sneaking when it's pitch dark
It haunts and haunts
throwing the dead of a past
in my present
Making my eyes bawl with fear
for what ifs

What if tomorrow is a ruin
of the calm beauty of today?
What if tomorrow is a burning
of the bridge I built on sea, by myself?
What if tomorrow is a drowning
in the water I dare to tread?
What if tomorrow
is a promised sorrow?

What if...

Then there's too much sadness
settling in at night
like old wounds I accidentally
(or intentionally) started scratching up again
It peels and bleeds
drawing out old blood, poisoning
my new skin
Making my eyes freeze in fear
for the could have beens

It could have been easier
to go with the flow, surrendering.
It could have been better
to be one of the fishes in the water, swimming.
It could have been lighter
to settle waiting for a good tide, sweeping.
It could have been safer
to let the bubbles float me to shore.

It could have been...

But there's too much
mumblings, whisperings, and musings
to listen to at night
too many dreams to catch on
and count on
and plot on
Like a child naive in the ways of the world
I blink and blink away sleep
scribbling dreams, and blood, and soul
on a piece of white paper
Making my eyes light up and dance
casting glitters on a pitch black screen
of a yesterday I cannot change
Throwing glitters on a pitch black blur
of a tomorrow
I cannot ascertain

There's too much fire
burning;
my restless soul
stubbornly
refusing
to surrender the battle of today
trudging
closer to the next day.

#0141ma / 03262017