The Ocean

It is with a sense of foreboding and morbid apprehension that I put my pen to paper this afternoon. I find myself staring out into a vast expanse of ocean. Sapphire blue, with not a speck of solid ground in sight.

Bobbing up and down with the tide, trying in vain not to lose my grip on what little I have left.

A piece of drift-wood. Worthless to most every man alive. Bar myself. It is all that remains. One last bastion of hope. And it is disintegrating rapidly.

I fear I will not be able to hold on for much longer. At this very moment, I find myself on the cusp of drowning in this ocean of uncertainty. I am close to losing everything I hold dear.

During every waking moment on this planet, I have had someone, something much more concrete than myself to rely on, when my own coping mechanisms fail. Now, however, the only thing left to support me is the tattered remains of my tortured soul.

All of my integrity is gone. My will has vanished. My morality, discipline and self worth have burned a way in red fire. The only remaining tenet of my soul is a primitive instinct to survive. That one thing, that small piece of my soul is the only thing stopping me from drowning. Stopping my desecrated heart, my decomposed mind and my destroyed soul from plunging into the ocean of depravity.

My companions are few. That has always been the case. Ever since the first breath I drew. But I have never felt more alone than I do now. More than physical entities, the former compatriots I miss the most are my honour, virtue and discipline.

I have very little left now. The fires, angry red fires are gone now. Burnt out. What remains are smoldering embers, slowly eating away the remains of my being. Like a ball of scrunched paper, slowly succumbing to the mounting piles of ash.

If I can rebuild myself from this point, surely it will be the greatest miracle ever told.

And if not, I will surely be missed by none.