You’re in safe hands.
The water will meet you again.

The city is a tramp which we may love.
Grasp the promise of the good life.
For our ever changing plans.
Chained by our ever changing spirit.
Traffic music.
It fills me up when nothing is expected.
The push.
The shock.
The handshake that will be changing your direction.
The mask.
Don’t wake me from pain.
Don’t chain me from the notion.
The day will come when I belong and I won’t be lost.
The sounds of someone to depart.
I wish the weeping could begin.
To get the pain started.
The sooner I can learn to cope.
Embracing these new found feelings.
No one is out to save you.
You have to catch upon yourself.
The falling into uncertainty.
The crumbling of the walls.
Nothing is in your way.
Your thoughts can expand.
Nothings in your way.
Travel into the unknown.
These new found feelings.
Oh Cyprus.
You’re in safe hands.
The water will meet you again.

Slowing seeping into the fray, I want to walk far away. The distance is close — I draw near. My mind elusive and acting cavalier. This disproportionate viewpoint of personal ideals. I’m not sure what thoughts are mine but I’m sure they’re not my own. Surely they aren’t my own. The glimpses of words that lie as imagination, I feel this premonition is a mask of certainty. The voice and mind that guides my life — perhaps a mirror of my better self. Denying my abilities and possible wellbeing, perhaps this is why I’m drowning. The rock that was hard is now soft as sand. Soaking me in uncertainty — again and again. Is there a difference in drowning or sinking? Is death a decision or an inevitable motion. Are these words my own? I hope not. I think.