There is rain against the window.
I am watching through the glass
a life I left behind
The further I drift
the smaller the world looks
and soon there will only be the white room.
I fear the white room.
I would rather choose the soil.
I cannot hold on to the world
and the world will not hold on to me;
There are no arms to hold me here
so I am drifting further every day.
Sometimes I want nothing
and sometimes I want everything
and when I watch the dark grey waves
I feel them grow and fall and pull me
out to sea.