For me, there’s a haunting middle-ground between my anxiety and my depression. A sort of psychological, emotional DMZ that I can almost see roll in over everything. Where all feeling is lost and time has little meaning. And it’s not as if I don’t care, or have no desire to care. In fact, all I want to do is kick and scream until I find my way out. But it’s just so damn tiring. Eventually, I feel the merciful thing is to let myself slip under and find rest.
Read this and more in Cable-Knit Sweater, an on-going poetry collection on Wattpad.
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There are days where I find myself
drifting through this endless haze,
lost in that ever deepening grey,
that haunting, rolling beauty
of an early-morning marine layer
feasting upon an unsuspecting world,
bobbing about in darkened waters,
where I’m aware something is there,
nipping and tugging at my toes
beneath that still, silvery surface,
waiting for the tide to take me,
the waves to lull me, the cold to ache me,
for my mind to numb and sleep.
— The Grey. Steve Arviso. 2018.