Desperate to escape
the voiceless chatter
in my head
that rings like thousands of cicadas
hiding in the trees.
I swim through quicksand.
Fists grip individual grains.
I try to dig my way out.
The voices become louder and louder,
echo off the shoreline
breeding claustrophobia in open water.
The magic of my arena,
Where past daemons rest,
has vanished.
Floating here was my secret asylum.
Now I am its inmate.
My flight becomes futile.
With limp limbs, bated breath,
I surrender.
I welcome its embrace.
It enfolds me in its bosom.
The still water cradles me into its bed.
Numbness enters my heart.
Tranquility fills my soul.
Escape is impossible.