Fissure in the sea that is my soul,
Pulls me down between the cracks, it won’t let go.
Trying hard to fill the void with whatever I can find,
But all the things I held dear are no longer close enough to call mine.
Reaching for hand holds, I find no hands to hold.
They come away empty with dust between my palms though.
I use the nothingness as a means to an end.
Humming along to the whispers in the wind I pretend,
That I’m not alone in this fissure,
That my real friends know me better.
And they’ll come curiously to check on me,
Peek over the edge into my personal misery.
Maybe one of them will throw down a rope.
Something tangible to hold onto, stronger than hope.
Because hope stretches thin like taffy when you’re alone,
In the fissure in your soul that you call your home.