Ophelia of the lonely lake,

can you hear me as I do you?

You are in my mind, and you are

miming my death

Again. And Again. And Again.

Ophelia of the mourning mountains,

night before last, I dreamt I was a star

shining and shooting with infinity above.

But when I woke,

I saw that the sky was dark and your heart was dim,

and everyone was dancing the dance of deserted fools.

Ophelia of the weeping willows,

where has my soul gone?

I send my search

out with the wind.

Is it there? I wonder.

Are you there? I wonder.

Am I there? 

Ophelia of the grieving girls,

I believe I may be a ghost.

I was left behind a few times too many,

and yet again, I do not feel alive.

Like a ghost, I am unsolid and unformed,

slipping through the floor

of the once tangible world around me.

Ophelia of the sorrowful seas,

I am sinking.

In the absence of water, I am sinking.

I am like a heavy stone, and

I don’t know which way is up.

Certainly, I could try to swim,

but I am a stone, and stones were made to sink.

Ophelia of the dying daisies,

I am always thinking.

My thoughts are like oceans,

often at peace: calm and flat.

But then it storms and the water surges and I fight to float but

I can’t breathe.

I can’t be sure if I ever knew how

to begin with.

Ophelia who lives below my brain,

oh, how I resent you.

You are my darkened moon,

a cruel secret to those that look,

for you do not seem capable of reflecting light.

Yet, despite my pains, it is you

that I cannot live without.