Further I Go

As if the water could surround me, its wings gently enfolding me in a sweet, suffocating escape.

My arms spread wide, fingers extended to embrace that which embraces me, passing before my eyes—blurred, unfocused, flowing across my open lips and slipping kindly down my throat.

It is a beautiful demise, comforting in way that is unpleasant and final, yet satisfying in its completion.

As if my pain, my dissatisfaction was subservient even unto these waters, unfulfillment robbed from my chest and replaced with the river.

Further I go, further still.

It was a delicate leap, from sanity to chaos, from the sky to the water; filled with purpose and abandon my splayed body cut the surface clean, opening a wound in the water that was immediately filled by my presence.

Desperate to quench the ache inside, frantic in pursuit of the dream; dying to kill what, in its absence, torments me.

As if the water was a savior, purging my mind, my body of everything that caused death but simultaneously bringing a new death, one more wholesome and satiating than the other.

And yet I go, further still.