Heathen

I’m in my head so much, it seems I live there.
My very existence is confined to the walls of my conscience.
Something that, from afar, seems so small,
Happens to be my entire world.
It encapsulates me, like a thick wool blanket.

To live a life outside of this existence,
Is to sentence myself to an agonizing death.
So, instead, I’ll let the water rise above my head.
The torture is of my own doing,
For my fear grows a rich forest around my pain.

And when the water finally takes its victory,
I’ll be the one in debt.
And even the glorious trees, ablaze,
Are unsuccessful in their attempts to dry the river flowing through my lifeless lungs.