In a bowl, I feel mixed
Up like a vapor and down like an anchor
I can't seem to make any sense of it
Because it's not a common currency

Now I type with the anchor held up
By a current of fish swimming below and beyond
Deep through my veins doth these chemicalities
Like to weave through my arteries and back to my heart

The glow and the lustre of life seems to vanish
As I sit and tire so slow with the slightest of weights
And I wait for the sea to turn it to vapor
And for the kindest seabreeze to carry the lighter

And no longer can I write in poetry, solely prose. The lines bother me so, I nip at them like the deer I speak. A little foolish fae, I am, to think and breathe. To be allowed to know of such things far after I hath experienced them. My diagnosis comes from memory, all before then did my head lie in the deepest of fogs.

Forever, I feel, I had been an ignorant fool, had I not? Now the anchor weighs farther, and through my sternum there is a hook pulling and ripping and stabbing and twisting, in the kindest of ways, at the tiniest levels. A thousand times smaller than the eye can see, they twist and bring me down to size. And with it, they bring my sanity and smiles, they bring my energy to a halt and I fall down, farther and farther.

But I never reach the bottom, for this is a recipe for the sweetest of the bittering sweets. I know that of soon, I shall rise. And the curtain of sadness shall be left, to be replaced with a veil of amor and life. I do not know this, but I do. Though the anchor is pulling me down farther and further, or so I feel, it simply tugs with the current...I have map, at last.

The footsteps do not lie. Fossilized there in all their glory, telling of every flick and flicker of the switch that flickered by the one at fault. I want to cry because I do not know the real me, and I may have, but I may have never. I do not know, that is simply a part of it. These things, these things are falling down, down into another category...the puzzle pieces that I felt were the brain were simply another part of the body. And until, at last, I am given that last piece that I gaze upon with realization...

...I shall never see the full picture, and see within it, what the truth is to this alien creature I so desire to call myself.

Not without assistance. Because for the longest time, I truly felt that these times in the clouds, these times of electricity and smiles, were the true me. That I solely had level of the ocean and beneath it, with no gases nor plasmas in sight...what an ignorant fool I was.

And now, I can no longer find the line between ocean and see. It is obscured by the thickest of mists. It is as though it is not there, and maybe it never was.

Who am I...what words are my own...when was I, I, last...

How long until I drop the reigns again...

A few hours...a few days...?

*half smiles, and sinks head down low*...

I feel ashamed for being me...I feel like an ignorant fool...

This puzzle piece...do I rejoice...or regret having found it...?

*sighs*...

---
---
---

*cringes*...don't attack my honesty. I'm afraid to write about it in any form other than this cryptic form you just read. Ugh...*hides*...

If anyone attacks me, this all may disappear x.x