Shipwrecked

An unreliable narrator—

usually, me.

Sprung from the depths

or bound to the sea?

.

Dragged to the seashore,

by the raft of

my own inflated ego

I gasp for breath.

Sunlight,

my sycophant sojourner,

kisses my cheek.

Weak sister.

I have awoken.

Gripping clouds

with a dry mouth

I cry out to the charging sea,

the devil's bathtub,

funneling

and snickering at me.

Give me my pen!

The sea swirls.

My shipwreck

washes onto shore.

My journals,

blooming lotus flowers

remain in the wade pool

where they are fed upon

by dragonflies,

if edible—

otherwise, rotten

spit out

and weaved into a mandala

forgotten photographs

letters

poems

fuel for the molten

monotonous core

of the sea bed below.

I dive in

head first,

swallowing lava,

stomach pumped

sun poisoning

from lounging on shore.

Now we are miles beyond sand.

My bloodshot eyes

torpedo the steroid

shot

lightening.

I am ready to confront you,

Paper Paper

Whoever you are.

Someone I can remember,

Someone I can't

Something I've blacked out

and regurgitated as silt.

Although you came back

and something is different,

you and I both know,

we are all here to melt.

In the center of the earth's core,

alive,

or un-awelled,

wandering past the ink slick bridge

that births italics beyond hell,

you and I both know,

underlined the tyrant pen that swells,

we are all here to melt.

we are all here to melt.