When writing fails.

The words in your brain;
beginning to swirl out of hand.
You have to write.
You need to write.
You take a breath.
And Plunge.
All the words, stumbling clumsily onto the paper;
Reincarnating a scene,
remaking a memory,
reliving a life,
Revisiting the past.
Of which secrets were laid bare,
where feelings were openly displayed,
when wit was a tool of knowledge
and sarcasm was everything;
the marks of annoyance,
the strength of anger,
the tenderness of interest,
the softness of caring.
You breathe again,
after letting that out.
You hope for the best.
But.
then a silver ray beacons to you,
blinding you, as you grope
all around you for resistance.
The light beckons you to delve more.
More into your mind,
the sea of emotions, fought against
strained and locked.
Too much.
Too much.
You can not breathe.
You struggle, you claw
you throat trying to breathe.
Too much.
So you grab on the nearest thing,
an excerpt or knowledge,
like a drowned swimmer would,
and hope that one day the sea would evaporate,
or drain.
grasping the object,rather obsessively,
like children with their toys,
Your hands are now bleeding,
you've held the object too strong,
but it can not be helped.
So you keep holding on.
you keep holding on, for the sake of living.
you hold on for the sake of sanity.
you hold on for the fear of drowning,
into the deep blue sea.