Swimming in sorrowful;
misgivings.

Taken under,
by the current,
situation.

Amidst misshapen,
plastic regrets.

Without a stroke of luck,
to keep me;
afloat.

No -
boat,
life-jacket,
or, buoyancy aid.

Just, a notion
of an ocean,
with sunken eyes,
sleeping,
with the fishes,
at it's own behest.

In this nightmarish,
wet, and, bloody existence;
dripping scarlet, is;
found wanting.

Rubious hope - flounders,
swallowing shame,
and, despair,
then, breaks the banks,
of the river;
red.

And,
from cherry,
saturated bedsheets,
each choked dream of survival -
slowly, drowning.

I wake up, alone,
and, already;

dead.


© poormansdreams
@poormansdreams

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