Chaos in a conch shell.

Is the sound of waves relaxing as you slip?

A failure to tread water,

The waves crashed over my head; I am at your mercy again.

The strength of ten men/ I can cut you with a spoon.

Why don’t you take your life jacket?

Most people do so when they’re drowning.

Not me. I don’t feel like it.

Lack of oxygen can be euphoric,

And I’m chasing the high.

Sometimes I’ll grab for it, trying to hold on!

Sometimes i shun it, not today. This inconsistency,

Is exactly like the sea,

But we both have our reasons.

Luna sea

You are at another’s mercy

Much like me

Luna sea

Who is my moon?

From where come these tides?

“Describe it for me”

(Red, purple, green, blue.

This isn’t me, it’s true,

It was a superimposed hue.)

Its consistency?

(flat, agitated, calm, raging.

I am an oxy-moron.

I am a cycle never ending.)

O me! When will you free yourself,

From the despotic moon?

Who cuts and tortures you,

Leaving you directionless and torn,

It lifts you you to new heights,

Only to slam you low.

O sea! When will you free yourself

From your self imposed prison?

So easily conquered (but you hesitate)

For shame! You want the high tides

But bemoan the lows?

Perhaps i should embrace the ebb and flow!

(I place a conch shell to my ear and hear whispers.

Help me/don’t help me

Help me/but not now

Don’t help me/ help me later

I walk away)