Summer

Summer

Sink.

I sink down, down, down.

Into my chair.

Into my bed.

All I can see from my perch,

Is the faces of those who can’t understand.

A face of grief,

For the person they once saw me to be.

As the summer went,

The umbilical cord of the breeze was cut.

The chairs pulled out from under the desk,

scraped and screamed at the floor.

The sweet taste of the sunlight.

A chill runs down my spine.

Dread makes me sink.

I sink down.

They touch my hand and see,

I am sinking.

They touch my hand and believe,

I have changed.

I do not change.

I have always been sinking.

To sink reminds me of summer.

I always want to sink.

I grab the back of my chair and pull.

Silence.

The room is quiet, no sound.

Except for the beat of everyone sinking.

I look across the crowd.

There goes one, sinking.

Here comes another, sinking.

They all are sinking.

I reach out a little further.

I am no different if they are all sinking too.

I do not show myself sinking anymore.

If I do, they will all follow.

A show of humanity.

A show. That is all.

Sit.

Onto my chair.

Onto my bed.

I do not show my sinking.

I want to be different when summer comes again.