The Ocean

A Poem by Michael Howell

when you run out of words. when you run out of tears. when you run out of excuses and reasons and ideas.

and everything you could ever want leaves.

and you're left behind to gather the remains of your life from the ground and wrap them in your jacket to hide them from the rain. staring into the distance, wishing you could fly to her. run. crawl.

and you bite your tongue, leaving gouges filled with blood. you sniffle and shiver and feel your eyes burn.

your dry, dry eyes.

and you see a storm coming. gusts of white wind running fingers across the parched white ground, sand catching hold and spinning like a dancer in the air. weaving stories untold through it. your ears and mouth fill with sand. and you don't care.

you don't care. you don't care that it's starting to rain. you don't care that the vultures are circling and the cyotes are howling along the cliffs. you don't care that you can't cry anymore. you don't care that she's gone, you don't care that there's no excuses or reasons or ideas for the way you're feeling.

the only thing you care about is her. the way her eyes danced under the stage lights. they way her eyebrows scrunched in amusement when you make a fool of yourself. the way her lips sparked the fire in your body that consumed you. consumed everything. the way her voice shook as you broke her heart. the way she kissed you, trying desperately to remind you, to beg you, please, please don't leave me.

please come home.

but now home is so far away. burned to the ground. blaming yourself for destroying the place you shared. knowing full well that her life would be so much better without you in it. that you caused so much more pain than good. and knowing that the only thing she remembers about you in the bad in you. she doesn't remember the times you told her you love her, she only remembers the time you looked in her eyes and told her that you're sorry, but you don't love her anymore. she only remembers the time you lied to her.

nothing's smaller than you right now. you can think of nothing worse. no one worse.

knowing you deserve to be miserable. knowing that death would be too good for you. knowing that you can never, ever be a good person again.

you stand above the ocean, looking out into its vast depths. you see the waves crash against rocks there. you hear the thunder of every drop of memory slapping reality. and you see every tear you shed drop into the freezing ocean, rippling there...

and you do know.

death would be too good for you. you deserve to be miserable.

no one is worse than you.