The Shore

Depression is in the nature of drowning. I see it in my dreams. Warning! This could be triggering. Proceed with caution, fragile ones.

This rocky shore has been the start
and always the end.
The waves lap gently at my feet
lulling a soft song.
But out there, in the mist-ridden distance,
I see the turmoil they curl.

The grey skies are mocking,
and they bring the threat of rain.
The air is thick with anticipation
yet those clouds, they simply laugh
and put on hold their reason.

The cliffs behind me stand tall,
shrouded in shadows.
I know they think of collapsing,
I know they smirk.
Their structure is crumbling,
broken rocks lay weeping at their feet.

Footprints are stamped into the sand,
sad and alone.
There is not one pair but two,
distanced with destruction.
And I see her there,
a vacant expression set in her monochrome eyes.

Her cries are heart-wrenching,
and I watch as her golden locks
are ripped by the wind,
dragged out by the mist.
She stands alone now with only her voice.

She is loud, she is sad.
Her body is adrift,
the ice-cold water snatching at her hips.
She frowns, as though she's forgotten something.
I know I need to tell her stop,
to tell her no.
But I do not.

Her arms and torso are slowly,
being engulfed by the wicked waves.
She does not care.
Her cries are louder, shriller,
resonating through the wet atmosphere.

I can see the tears,
crystal as they form,
cling to her lashes, salty as the sea.
The grey clouds are alight with laughter,
and they begin to torrent.
Their tears, as sad as she,
pour to earth with an immediate haste.

Suddenly, she is neck-deep.
She is no longer wailing – she
simply stands there.
The water, black and haunting,
has dimmed her lustre-fuelled hair
and drowned her breaths.
She is silent.

And then I close my eyes
and I feel her heart stop.
I feel it break, crack, rip.
The water floods and I am lost.
A soft hum sounds in my ear,
and I let go.

The End

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