Treading

Where am I?

I'm submerged in liquid, all but my head.

Is it blood?

No.

Too gruesome

Not dreary enough.

I think I am in ink.

Ink black like obsidian,

Yet fluffy like flour.

And it has a current,

A shifting consciousness.

This ink is my thoughts.

Thoughts which are incoherent.

Thoughts which are more accurately called feelings.

More precisely, one feeling.

One feeling which I've experienced once before;

Only once.

In reaction to separation from her.

A close friend during middle school.

A sad little dead end trail.

This time it is for them.

A happy little trail with no end in sight.

And the ink threatens to drown my mind.

It makes my skin prickle

And my stomach buzz from electricity.

And it threatens to slip through my eyes.

But still I like it.

Because I like the reason it exists.