The books I read, with my feet brushing water on different corners of this dock,
have lied to me more than even love has.
Tells me that a lake is calm, filled with beauty and life,
and that the trees shade burning rays.

But the breeze sway branches
close enough to my face so they might caress me into a cold embrace and welcome me.

However, I'm now filled with an intense urge
to "fall," submerge myself in the murky green water,
to let the water protect my ears from the deafening whispers above
and block my eyes from the smiles and laughs not real.
Mostly to just
f
a
d

e


a


w


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y