i thrive, thrack and fail
send all intent out to sea
to a banished hell
cuz baby
we gotta believe in something

i try not to self-diagnose
based on something
i read on the internet

send all encasements of my inner being
on a liquid barge
a diptych shift in the ship's velocity
sprouting uptail current swift
and compromised
not needing any eyeglasses
i fend for an accessory that still
places itself upon my body on a need-for basis
not that i predict/seek out medical attention
but the amounts of times i get dizzy every day
i worry i might fall
and in it
not hold a center
a kinda swift galactic madness
rushes through me
my limbs are cargo
see them swinging to & fro
as if buoyed by some grander scheme
the thing of being a hidden wreck
a ship unearthed thousands of yrs later
not atlantis per se
but a barrage of specific intent
like the everyday fuel for suicidal thoughts
people act like it's very unhealthy to think
there's an atlantis i mean to think about accomplishing
yr own death
but i've grown to accept it as only natural
knowing too i'd never do that
and i don't want to go back on antidepressants
but i also want joy-fueled moments to rise more often
than the sinking despair of treasure
dug up undersea
thousands of years later
with no meal to gain or compass to compose oneself to