Postman Syndrome Amputees Make Bad Swimmers
What's with me and stars, gardens, blue light, and the
trees? Sometimes I feel like Poseidon losing control over
my seas. Came face to face with God and it left a scratch
on my sanity, but before I go down I have a feeling I'm
taking you with me.Now the boat is capsized, vessel
smothered, making it hard to breathe. Our biggest worries
below us, hiding in the water we cannot see. Paranoia and
curiosity get the best of me. Turn upside-down and catch
a glimpse of what's under but now I cannot see what this
means to me. A fury of stilted speech sparks the tide.
Ride it deep to your muse birth. Drink it slow. Taste the
undertow of pretension. The liquid embryo congeals in
your throat when all you take away is that my metaphors
blow.Better to scold than coddle. Better to drain what
follows. Before the rain unbottles, look at the swill
you'll swallow.A lonely road, badly paved and hollow.
Stepped in a hole, fell into a flooded tunnel before you
rowed up, before you came up shallow, before you echoed
you'd rather drown than swallow this.It's not the same as
being afraid to swim underneath the sea, and it's not
enough to picture your arms as limbs of a tree, but I've
got you here with me. I've got you, and you can't leave
me. Push away, crawl away, but you'll never leave me.
