I do not want me,
my brain rejects every organ of this body
and bleeds out acid rain.
Joy ran away,
caught a boat across the ocean
now I’m stranded on the bay
with a raft built from rotten wood
and a single bullet
to either bury myself where my soul breaks
or shoot for an SOS.
I’m stuck rooted to the spot,
like a dead weight drowning slowly in quicksand
unsure I rate this life high enough to save it
as the storm cloud approaches along with my fate.
A lightening strike splits the clouds,
allowing space for the heavens to open
as my own hand reaches down.