And I'M Drowning Poem by Ruth L. Rivers

And I'm drowning and you don't see me, not really. Sure, you think you do, you say you do, describing me and what you think you're seeing but really, ...not really. An allusion that might look stark and thus, pretty compared to the chaos of color near you but how does that make me any less wet, any less dead? Loosing my self, with wet lips and the floating angel's hair, in a silence that closes out the rest of it, out of sound, out of space, out and out, trapping the dark and holding on to me, pulling me down, it's beyond that which you can't see for you have no shade of blackish bluish water, no longer having the answers I need, you want to leave me as I go beyond laughter!
And I'm drowning here on the inside of life, ripe with youths foolish answers, foolish captive dancers, who never give nor apologize for the messes they make, the lives they take, the innocence that they worthlessly put at stake in their desires and rampant horrific dances, whirling round in this silence so sound, so full of the proofs of fools having danced with me.
And I'm drowning, making me farther from all, allowing you to remove yourself and let me fall, a little more down with the spinning of soundless sounds, farther away from life and its warm pounding pungent drum, from that to being less seeing and a little more dead and a little more wet.

By Ruth L. Rivers
March 26,2008