Waves

My pain

Is analog; it ebbs

And flows, and upon high

Tide, tsunami ennui

Swells to obscure

All that is pure

In me;

After the rise

Of radiating ego

With razor blade edge

Of self-loathing, there is oft

A lull. Low tide comes

Gently, and kisses

Away lingering

Aches. My

Pain

Comes and

Goes and rises

And falls. Fluctuating

Volumes comprise my mind

In ceaseless warfare. I

Am not the conflict

Myself, but rather

The very trenches

Of no man’s

Land.