By: Jasmine Simpson
The higher world rests above my waters; up there lies the past.
Do I truly belong there with all those black memories?
It seems too unfamiliar now.
I must stay below where I am free.
I must be away from the world of sin and sorrow.
That past left long ago, yet shadows linger in my mind.
The obscurities of my thoughts leave traces riddled with darkest deeds.
All these years they have ached to behold the sun.
They ache to breathe once more.
This addiction of the mind is sedated merely with its freedom.
To be free is a fragmentation of fiction.
No reality could deign to such a tragedy as this.
I saw all of those souls; they were born to live by breathing.
They grasped it as their freedom.
Yet in reality, it was their prison.
I saw the frailty of their minds.
None could resist this euphoria of breathing.
What made their air so precious?
What gave it the power to rule them?
Those above are too naïve.
That utopia we once sought; it is only dreaming.
That world will never have peace.
That world will never be home.
So why do we breach the surface?
Why do we breathe when we cannot drown?