Cast Away

I could probably fill up an ocean with my tears. But I guess I already did. Because now I'm treading water and its so odd, because I feel like I should be drowning. I feel like I should be drowning but some how I manage to stay close to the surface. Except then every so often rip tides take over and I'm cast out to sea. And I'm all alone there, with nothing but a long, desolate, blue view and the sun burning my cheeks. Then I'll fall asleep and wake up where I started. And sometimes, the water gets rough and I get caught in a wave that's breaking. The wave knocks me over, pummeling me with its briny fists. Salt water searing my throat and my eyes. I can't see. I hit the sandy bottom hard and the grains scratch me and the rocks slam into me. My arms flail and my legs kick weakly. I want to drown at this point. It would be so painless compared to this. But no. I float back up and drift on the choppy ocean surface, battered and bruised. But I recover, and the cycle repeats. And every once in a blue moon I meander close to a shoreline. So close that I can see the boats and people milling about. I can see the ever so hopeful lighthouse signalling me in. And I try to swim to the shore, I try so hard. But the water keeps pulling me back. I kick and tug but the water won't let up. I wish I would sink, but I'm not an anchor. I'm a buoy, destined to a life of rough seas and endless storms, barely keeping afloat.