Going Under

The tide rolls in again

and I am

stuck,

unable to break free

from you.

 

I watch the water rise,

and slowly,

I am engulfed.

Panic creeps in,

as the air in my lungs

struggles to

escape.

 

I fight the urge

to give in,

but ultimately,

I know you will have

your way.

 

I exhale into you,

and you then

breathe into

me.

 

At first

I struggle.

I thrash and flail

and convulse,

until a quiet,

faraway feeling

slowly

creeps through me

and I am calm.

 

I see waving rays

of sunlight

cutting through

the blue-green

watery grave

in which

you have buried me.

 

The light fades.

Something rough,

and unseen,

and enormous

brushes by me

and I know

you will consume me,

destroy me,

but it doesn’t matter

anymore.

 

I feel your teeth.

It is your turn to thrash,

and I am a rag doll,

flung every which way

in slow motion.

 

A grey fog

begins to encircle

my vision,

growing darker,

nearing black,

it steals my

sight,

and  then

I am no more.

 

 

 

 

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