Salty water,
Damp pillow sheets,
Forming a sea of hands,
Dirty and grimy,
I could never touch.
But it feels so right
To wallow in
My own self pity,
I know its wrong,
But I can not help it.
And neither can people,
Who cross my path,
Lend a hand,
Watch me drown,
In that same sea.
Shaking heads,
Sighs of regret,
Sighs of relief alike.
What they don’t know is
I can be helped,
And who am I to tell them
Their efforts are a waste?
This is what I choose to be