father

a brief moment of emptiness that lets words flow in

There is an ocean rolling in my head. Salty waves hitting splashes of white foam against my skull. All this whiteness of passive aggression that I got from my father. The forever-pushing-down force that chokes me every moment I see bright colors.
There are other waves crashing against wider shores somewhere I need to reach someday. I catch a plane that never lands and hope my flight ends in white fog, softer than my mind and tasteless, sweet nothing.
Like water sliding down a throat silently, neutral, not warm nor cold. Not black or white or bright. Like a sad toothache in the back of my head pounding down my nervous system shaking me slightly against firm walls.
I see rage in the horizon somewhere.
Somehow, I am.
And soon melted.