Wallow.

So tell me, do I wallow?
Do I indulge the darkness
when I lie down and let it
swallow me - never whole,
but in pieces here and there.

I'm afraid you'll give up
on me, the way I often do.
Because, at the end of your day,
you return to your own stress,
and I return to mine.
I am accountable for this weight.
You can't hold it for me.

Tell me, please explain,
why it felt soothing to open
my body to its touch,
to not forge a shield,
choosing instead to wait
out its tidal vortex.

I have too much on the
tip of tongue, holding back,
on the edge of epiphanies -
on the edge of something sharper.
If I step forward, I fall back
eventually, feeling like an imposter
for the times I bounce back
like it was nothing.

But it was, and I need someone
to notice what's past the surface.

________________________________________

Written while listening to Linkin Park's "More the Victim":
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Ysb4Md4XYsc