When the fluid dynamics of sorrow
follow no pattern, bear no rhythm,
I only recognize the toxic slew
when a wave hits.
And makes me want to throw up.
I ride them slow.
Falling off one of these will hurl me in dark places
I do not want to visit.
But in my mind, I have already.
Hanging from rafters,
Bleeding in a warm bath,
Surrendering to pills.
My tears swell just before they pour, when
suffering invades my brain
and leaves room for nothing else.
I am scared,
I don't want to die.
The flood of tears breaches the levees
of my eyelids
as immense sorrow washes over me.
I breathe and concentrate on my breathing.
The wave breaks.
My heart gets drenched with the toxins of loss.
HELENA!
Whose flight I cannot stop mourning.
I gasp for air.
I pray for a friendly voice, a live connection,
a human raft,
a consciousness who will hold me
until the wave has passed.
I breathe through the tears.
The shame of my lability stops me from calling.
I remember teachings:
Contemplate the thought, behold the sadness,
and regain your bearings.
The wave recedes, trailed by
rivulets of liquid hurt racing after it.
I breathe without attention.
I breathe without crying.
I breathe.
Made it! One more time, without drowning.
I turn inward and feel my being smile.
Made it!
I am spent, shaking, but elated to be alive!
And I rejoice in the joy.
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