waves of sadness

the feeling of sadness and dealing with bipolar disorder

Sadness comes in like surf not shout, but a hush
That gathers it’s weight offshore.
It leans in cold lace at my ankles,
Then my knees, patient as a tide
That knows my name.
I try to stand against it,
To laugh it off like weather,
But it keeps it’s own clock,
Keeps returning for what it left.
The water climbs my ribs,
With salt and echoes.
Breath becomes a small,
Bright spark
Held too long in the fest.
There is no single moment
When i vanish only the
Slow surrender of shoreline into sea.
Above, the world goes on in ordinary light.
Below, everything is muffled, blue green
And heavy, and i am sinking so quietly
I almost mistake it for rest.
A slow erosion of the self,
mapped in saline and steady creep.
The metaphor is water that does not break,
but occupies,
turning the solid ground of the chest
into a shelf for the deep.
It mimics the pulse of the moon—
inevitable, rhythmic, cold.
The form is a sinking anchor,
dragging the light down
until the silence is all that is left to hold.