Sometimes Headaches Are Worse Than Broken Bones

My hands are dry 

but my palms are sweaty.

I’m breathing through a straw

to control my anxiety.

Where do I find myself in all this?

How do I know where I am?

When will I find the door?

To less of what we had too much of 

makes me ache for enough.

You said this boat was never meant to sink,

well then I ask you,

why are we knee deep in water?

Why are my ankles cold,

as we wade through their demoted emotions.

I think even the trees are telling us something wrong.

My eyes are soaking,

but my stare is dry

and my gaze is distant,

like searching for something that hasn’t existed yet.

Puffing away at your pipe,

you’ve seen the world change,

to worse.

You’ve experienced bombs and gas,

and survived,

but diving head first in the mist is about the most dangerous thing you’ve ever done.

So write a diary,

keep a trail

on what you do,

and why,

because when you come out of the door at the end

you might not remember,

who I am.

So I wish you a merry journey,

and send me a postcard every now and then

just to let me know I’m still in your head from time to time.