Still Under
poem by F.T. Roman
drowning gets easier the more You practice
there’s an incredible high the lower You go until You dash against the rocks and lose what little wind You’ve got left there are life preservers sure little pellets You can swallow to moderate Your descent keep You floating when Your arms get tired but treading water only gets You so far and attracts old memories with teeth like sawblades they gnaw and they gnash blood pouring from the thrashing a feeding frenzy of things best kept hidden they leave You eyeing that shotgun in the corner a quick click and they’ll scatter splatter across the wall behind Your head a mosaic of should-haves and could-haves and would-haves but the what-ifs remain whispering in Your ear the promise of a better tomorrow or hour or minute and it’s enough to make You breach gasping for air one more time |
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