I don't go there often,
To this lonely rock of my island self,
And walk the weathered shores of me.
I don't wait there often,
On the edge of breaking revelations
In an angry pool of epiphany.
I don't stand there often,
Upon the jagged, prideful stones
That carve reminders in my feet.
For when I linger often,
Within the desolate desolation
Of my aching inner sea,
I get pulled under often,
When wading through the bitter tides,
That tug at the heart that's sinking me.