Searching for Sanity

There came a point in the story when I realised,

this was not entirely a work of fiction,

I touched the precious page, reaching into the book,

A compulsion to sniff the ink and be a part

of the person who bled for me to remember.

The character lay there in the desert, staring

up at the stars, with the world spinning beneath him,

the way I used to, by the lake or in the woods.

Becoming one with a universe that had forsaken me,

or so I thought, that perfect moment as I would

stare out to sea, find the horizon I could no longer chase,

and discover; the fracture in reality.

Where one could not discern where the ocean stopped

and the sky began,

that cataclysmic event, when complete clarity

exploded in my soul with violent silence.

I spent a life-time trying to recapture that instant,

Opening my throat to imbibe destiny

but forgetting to swallow, fate escaping as I

exhaled and choked down the urge to expire.

I forget to regret,

Searching for sanity.

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