The Flood

The merciless flood drowned me in guilt since birth. Its wicked-waves gave me whiplash with the pain that it had nursed. Praying for a home that lasts, my wishes were swallowed by its current. Neck deep, I thrashed, and it christened me the devil, the serpent. Tired of the turbulence, and keeping my head above water, I became an unwilling servant. So I got vengeful and built an ark using planks from the bridges I'd burnt.

Hopeful in my voyage to green grass, it met me with nothing but dirt. And seeing the flood had subsided, my hope developed into thirst. No longer could I drink from the water, for the water had dispersed - I settled with drinking wine, and drunkenly preached that I was cursed.

Thirsting for the chaos of the abyss over the peace that I deserved, started a war in my subconscious, where my contradictions churned. Crying out for familiarity, a whale of a wave emerged. Then I went home to the sea, not drowning, but willfully submerged. And like a twisted resurrection, the guilt had finally returned.

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