| Forget those old and melted wings
|
| Haven’t you still got arms and legs with which to swim?
|
| I know it burned you once
|
| But nothing so great feels so cool to the touch
|
| And no one should drown out of fear of the sun
|
| (end monologue)
|
| There’s always something. |
| Whether it’s drugs, fast food, empty sex,
|
| the dead weight of some pointless fucking celebrity or a reality television
|
| obsession. |
| We’re all drowning in something: Fear--fear of the future,
|
| fear of death; |
| an endless fruitless quest for success and social acceptance.
|
| There are oceans over all of us. |
| Oceans of something that flood our skulls at
|
| night and slowly erode us and wash our dreams away. |
| And we pour out from our
|
| eyes when our minds just can’t hold anymore. |
| And we love to blame anyone,
|
| anybody, but ourselves. |
| We need to think that we’re being held under,
|
| that there’s some other hands around our throats or on the back of our heads
|
| grabbing our ankles and pulling us down. |
| But I think if we were to just open
|
| our eyes for a second, I mean wake up, and snap out of this self-deprecating
|
| siren song that we all sing to each other, I think that we would see that those
|
| hands are our own. |
| If we would look up to the surface, I think we would see
|
| others reaching down, begging us to come up into the sun, and just breathe |