plateauing, uninspired, woefully self-pitiful.
sat in a dark cabin on the ship of my conscious.
An old, thick wooden table in the middle with three chairs stacked beside it.
the waves crash constantly against the bow. reverberating through every plank of wood, through my feet and right up my spine. constantly.
till i reach a brief respite, a stillness befalls the sea.
i dare to step out. it takes a while; constant repetition of self-worth and deluded belief of spirit brings life to my limbs.
i reach the door. locked.
i have no key.
i turn around, through the barred window i see the sky, wistful clouds, floating through the vastness above.
is this the closest i’ll get?
“it’ll have to make do – for now.”
but why constantly give in to inferiority?
avoiding the chance of failure does nothing but reaffirm it’s mental toxicity.
give. give everything, give with every atom of your being for if even that is greeted with failure, at least the sting of regret will not be by its side.
he throws the chair at the barred window, the wood cracks but does not break.
he looks around searching, the will to live courses through his veins – his newest addiction begins to settle within.
he throws another chair- the cracks spread.
he throws the last chair – the cracks deepen.
but nothing gives way.
as he turns away from the window, a new solution springs to mind.
he pushes the table towards the barred window.
with a few feet to go he begins to run, trying to make this count.
as he lets the table slide into the back wall of the cabin, a brief moment of hope washes over him – “what if it works?”
the wood caves in and crumbles away like falling autumn leaves.
the sound doesn’t cause him to flinch,
for all he sees is fulfilled potential.
he runs and leaps off,
into the deep embrace of water.
he is still lost, he is still alone – but he is no longer bound.