i have sat in the bog
felt the water turn my skin pink and shrivelled, like a raisin
the mud dripping down my throat and into my stomach
god, it weighs me down
i have sat in the bog
until the peat-moss is caked into my hair
until rock-bottom started to droop under my weight
maybe i deserve it
maybe it’s preventative
maybe i should just close my eyes, and stay here
and feel the time pass
i could pick apart my skin
i could pull out my hair, strand by strand
i could get lost in these parts and never come back
yeah, ‘cause maybe
i wouldn’t hate myself so much
with a different face
or a better heart
if i tried my very best to get it right the first try
tried until there’s nothing else to say
i have sat in the bog and seen my fate
in the leech-infested waters
thrown myself a pity party
forgot to mail out invites
and left the candles on the cake unlit;
it didn’t really work out anyway
i don’t even know how to do that bit
so maybe i will cry myself a river
and the current will keep me company
and that’s something that i will never do wrong
it will carve apologies into my aching arms
until they’re really just bone
and all those words i’ve never said
trace a path forward out along the riverbank
the clay beneath my fingertips
draw it out like the branching path of an ancient tree
burnt and flawed and broken
and still reaching for the sun
I tend to really ruminate on things, and wrote this at a time when I was: you guessed it! Ruminating! Um, yeah, I actually really like how this piece turned out, I think it’s really cool.