TP (December 13,1981 / Canada)

The Beach

There is no rhyme or reason
for this sudden thought of mine;
I just picked up this pen,
and the words I always fought
started to flow like crimson
down my chest in a stream so warm,
and life just was not worth living.
As suddenly as I thought this,
my life flashed before my eyes,
I felt a rushing flood
come from behind closed doors.
The tide rushed out
far beyond my outstretched arms,
and there was no one else
standing on the sandy beach-
and even as I fought the words,
they all rushed to my side-
to save me from oblivion?
Or maybe from myself?
Almost instantly the flood doors
slammed tightly shut,
but the beach was buried
once again by the tide
of emotions that were so uncontrollable.
The single set of footprints
that I had left behind
have been washed away,
so that no one will ever know
that I came here tonight.
Whenever people see my face
they see a happy smile,
but I am like the tide-
unpredictable and ever changing-
and my emotions are the sandy shores
that get burried by every wave.

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