Marshlands

I'm stuck in the marshlands of forever-lost. That's the real root of the problem. Not the hurt inside, or the knot in the gut, no. It's the forever-ever feel of a sinking heart. It's the not getting out. I can't get out. The thinking isn't helping, the thinking isn't solving, isn't dimming the feelings. Instead, they're work together. The thoughts are riling up the feelings, pin-pointing them. And there's no way out.

Damn those literature courses and it's damn books and damn words and Unis damned culture curriculum, and everything I've gone through these past years that makes me want to chop everything up in little pieces, place them in boxes, arrange and re-arrange, only to then start to describe, classify and name things for what I think they are. Now suddenly I can't stop thinking in allegories, I can't stop making up metaphors for how I feel, how I apprehend, how I react. And I know deep down, that I've always done this. But now, I really know that that's what I'm doing. And then those thoughts are back.

The thoughts are chasing me, the feelings are hounding me. They scare me, they scare me they scare me I don't want to think anymore feel anymore hurt anymore. I'm stumbling through the dark places and I can't get away, can't get out, can't save myself. They're at my feet, and I'm tripping on every root, every weed in the dark woods because I'm too tired to really try, I'm too weak to put up fight, and my breathing just isn't good enough, strong enough. I'm not strong enough. I'm falling and the hounds are ripping through my flesh, tearing me down and then I see what they see.
I'm already crushed on the inside. There's a snake on the inside that's crushed my ribs. Bones are piercing my heart, my lungs. That's why I can't breathe. I'm all blood. Boiling blood and open wounds. And I'm thinking how did I end up like this? And I see the hounds are thinking the same. Because they're just looking, staring me down. Forcing me to see the reasons to why I'm already torn. The thoughts and feelings aren't strangling me. They're just making me see what's already wrong. And suddenly the dark woods are gone, and I'm right back in the marshes. Forever-ever marshes.

And that's it. That's the reason. It's the marshes - the place where I'm bound. I can't get out. And it's not even a place anymore. It's you. You're a swamp. You're a swamp and I'm drowning in you, suffocating in the being that is you.
It's not a bad swamp. It's a good place, a grand place. The surprises are so many you've kept me here for years. The waters are black as night and when I look into the pools they're mirrors and windows at the same time. It's not a dead place, it's a vibrant place. It's a living place. It's so much more alive than me, it has so much more to give than I have. So I stayed. I was too engaged to leave. Too fascinated, to enamored.
But I've stayed too long. It's not getting better, it's getting worse. Now I can't leave. I leaned too far in over the night-pools and I fell in.
Now I'm drowning. I'm drowning in the swamp, I'm drowning in you. I can't breath, I can't breath. There's to much pain now, to much to fear. I'm scared to stay, scared to stay and rot away to something that used to be me but no longer is. It's started already. I can't recognize this sorry thing I've become. This sad thing that's taking the pain of staying because she can't stand the pain of leaving.

This isn't how it should be. I should be able to leave. I should be able to say good-bye. But I can't. It's in my system now. I'm crying marshwater tears. I've breathed the air of the marsh. I can't leave the swamp, yet I can't stay. It's not mine to keep. You were never mine to keep.

I've forgotten how to breathe.