I have long been drawn to the son­ic fusion where spo­ken word meets (melod­ic) post-hard­core. As a writer, I find the ocean with­in me res­onat­ing with the lyri­cal nar­ra­tives of these bands. In the melod­ic post-hard­core genre as played by bands such as La Dis­pute, Casey or Hotel Books, aching emo­tions cas­cade forth, raw and poignant, as if they were drawn direct­ly from the depths of the artist’s heart and bleed­ing into mine. This genre cre­ates an unpar­al­leled inti­ma­cy felt by its audi­ence towards its writ­ers, forg­ing con­nec­tions with com­plete strangers who, like our­selves, grap­ple with emo­tions so rarely mir­rored in the world around us. Screamy vocals give voice to the anguish and sor­row that con­tin­u­al­ly rend us asun­der, day by day, all while we attempt to con­ceal them beneath a facade of nor­mal­cy. These are the words that, if spo­ken aloud, might find them­selves home­less, adrift like cast­aways at sea, just as we often are—both artist and listener—lost amidst the vast expanse of our own emo­tions, like oceans merg­ing and colliding.

“This Lone­li­ness Won’t Be the Death of Me,” a song on Being as an Ocean’s record Dear G‑d, finds me unpre­pared on the bus one night, as I dri­ve through the dark­ness of this city to get ice cream, cov­er­ing up the fact that I feel utter­ly alone and don’t know what to do with myself at home. It’s a feel­ing I’ve grown all too famil­iar with—the per­va­sive sense of iso­la­tion that occa­sion­al­ly envelops me. Thank­ful­ly, this past year has seen it wane, thanks in no small part to the sus­te­nance of my friend­ships. But in those soli­tary moments, like the qui­et inter­ludes amidst the hum of the bus or the still­ness of a can­dlelit din­ner, it rears its head again, cas­cad­ing over me in waves, when the trees out­side sway and I lie in bed alone, fall for fall for fall, falling.

“This sea­son brings dark­ness so profound/I’ve become lost and can’t seem to be found/Contorted, racked with pain/I know I should feel free, yet I con­tin­ue to sing this sad refrain/I can’t sleep and food has lost its taste/God, I’m so sick of this place.” Indeed, the sen­ti­ment of weari­ness with one’s sur­round­ings is one we’ve all known.

If you find your­self feel­ing the same, per­haps you will find solace in explor­ing my Being as an Ocean playlist on Spo­ti­fy, a son­ic com­pan­ion through the tur­bu­lent sea of emo­tions in which we sink and swim and drown.

“This Lone­li­ness Won’t Be the Death of Me”

Claw­ing at my chest
Look­ing for some sort of reprieve
I swear this isn’t the end
But when will I feel com­fort­able in my own skin?

“Black & Blue”

Like the autumn chill
Like the love that failed me
Let the earth remove me
Black and blue

“Find Our Way”

I can’t climb inside your head, or shoul­der the load you car­ry
Nev­er cried the tears you’ve shed, but we have all known mis­ery
If you go it alone, you for­go all chance of res­cue
I know you feel lost, but I’m here to wan­der with you

Thorns

Shake the death from your bones

The Poets Cry for More

We’ve been led into the wilder­ness
by some radi­ant lover, just to be left in the cold
A dis­tant mem­o­ry, the warmth of home
‘Cause in the heat of bliss, we swore we would nev­er love another

Death Can Wait

We can’t keep liv­ing like death can wait

L’exquisite Douleur

Well I can’t get too close with­out want­i­ng all of you

OK

Roman­ti­cism seduced by the beau­ty of form
Those sup­ple lines, a famil­iar warmth

Skin

I’ve got you in my veins
Track marks and blood stains
Found plea­sure in my pain, baby
You’re in my skin

Dis­solve

And I wear my heart on my sleeve
So you can watch it bleed

Mer­cy Fer­rars is a MA grad­u­ate in phi­los­o­phy and writes fic­tion, poet­ry and non-fic­tion essays. She is mad­ly in love with Scot­land, dogs and Bojack Horseman.