swimming upstream and out of mind
i am becoming increasingly angry as i try to swim upstream.
i’m also getting tired, and my bleary mind is having difficulty discerning if this indignation is directed at myself for choosing this venture or at my shoulders for failing to see it through. for hurting. the latter option is more appealing as it is a disembodied. as if my arms were foreign entities. as if any punishment directed there would not impact me, the mind being pushed along and through its own conscious choices.
the water is cold, a temperature far surpassing refresh or invigoration. it is a numbing balm, seeping into the bones. it encases the joints, making them shake like a tired machine. there is rust is my blood, breaking off of the brittle metal and blocking my veins, dragging all mental processes into a stuttering crawl.
if i were a different sort of person i’d give up and let the river take me. if i were a different kind of person i’d blame the waters for my woes. the fact that i am neither is not a comfort, but it almost rhymes with one.