Drifting bleakly

Lost.
Oh no!
I’m lost again.
Lost.
Because I cannot tell
just how I feel
or what the hell
I am.
Oh, lost!
Because I cannot tell
what is that happened,
cannot say
since when
and what I am today.
Oh, lost!
It’s that
I fear the most.
Not lost in time and space,
you see,
– lost innermost.
I’m lost in me.
Lost on my way.
Lost, though secure.
Lost any day.
Lost any cure.
I’m helpless,
dazed,
confused,
unfused.
My body’s every pore is oozing,
vaporizing energy,
– escaping me
and leaving back a blank space
full of nothing.
See!
It’s there I float,
all by myself.
Don’t have no hold.
Can’t breathe,
no air!
No nothing here to…
Sea!
A splashing,
wild one,
raging,
splurging,
dashing child!
Disinclined to reconcile.
Distressed and troubled,
agitated.
No mild breeze to animate it.
Worried,
sick,
unsettled,
scared.
Tipped over,
psyched out,
unaware…

Oh little child, my heart, my Self,
come to my arms and let me help.
Come rest your head, I’m here with you.
You know it will be over soon.

A poem by Pia Petersson
Photography by Irene Muth