Drowning in the Nervous Attic

All of the saddest things are here. They fill the walls and spill out from under the pages. They cover the darkness and hold open your eyes. There’s nothing but black. There’s an absence more immense than the darkness. You’re holding on and letting go, and you’re not sure which. Stumbling and floating. And it’s all numb. And it’s all pressure. You can feel the energy of all of the memories. You may have broken it. You may not fix it. And you can feel all of the wrong choices. You can feel your heart touching the air when it should be in its cage. It’s being swallowed. It’s smothering. It’s drowning. It’s razing. It’s an ebb and flood. There is darkness. There is sadness. There are wet eyes and dry ones. There are closed lungs and torn apart hearts. And there is darkness. And there is sadness. Dancing. And growing. And in the distance, a deep glow. If you could only reach it. There is ebb, and there is flood. And that glow. If you could only reach it. Until it is smothering. And if you could only reach it. The glowing ebb of a flood. Strangling your breath. But for the glow. If you could only reach it.