The Dark Part of Water...

What is it we are hoping to achieve?
We? I act as though it is the plight of many
I know all too well these contemplations are my own.
It is the way in which we articulate that defines our level of engaging.

Repetitive denial is doing nothing for me
Conditioned to acknowledge one tenth of all variables

I plod along in the quiet understanding that becomes me.

Hairs turn grey, lines fail to connect
Brandished in the weight of midnight
Longing seethes and bites with teeth formed from stalactites
Aging in this diffused light, without the calming courtesy
Of a mate to call my own. How am I doing in this rusted circumstance?

Coping. Coping? As though there were a form of cope to soften the gritty cold night.
As much as I engage my stoicism, I fucking detest the love that blows out and away- daily.

But Love... is that what it is, blown to the outskirts of consequence?
Unwritten soliloquies, billowing blindly in their discombobulation, weakened by hindsight.
Sometimes, the proactive response to recompense for past wreckage,
Seeps into cracks and widens them, weeping within their destructive, injurious mutiny.

We can lose the goodness if the armor blocks enough
We? There I go again, this is no comparative analysis.
Just me and my fucked up threads of thought, rushing to make sense of nothing.

Nothing, blowing around without references to anything,
But the dark part of water and all that it forebodes.