Dark Seas

23 is the loneliest year. Every voice is a dull echo but leads nowhere important, voices I don't recognise talking over me. Everything about these times infuriates me, water bringing me down when I'm trying to breathe, when I'm trying to bloom under a dark sun. In the calm air of daylight I try to escape. I try to make sense of these sleepless, unemployed days, wishing I could change my idle ways. Wishing I could fly through fallacies, or that I could overcome these mountains, these pains I can't explain, but I feel them and I know they're real. They're getting longer like a long walk in summer. A mirror reflecting. Treading along a dangerous road into some queer and mysterious darkness.  Five years have passed in a flash, a thick muddy blur. I've tried to nurture them, those painful years, like the broken wings of a hopeless butterfly, but the magic has long faded from my fingertips.