Help Falling (Seemingly) From the Sky

Flailing

in the mental seas,

mouthfuls

of salted water

filling my mouth,

hurting my eyes

and trying to descend

into my lungs.

.

Eyes,

scratching the horizon,

trying to understand

how to flounder

while staying above the blue line.

The same blue line separating life

from death.

.

~

.

In one such moment,

when it seems all hope is drowning/ed,

towards me

floats a log.

Sturdy and hard

Inside the heart of the log

is a small bounty of food.

.

I hold onto the log.

Floating…

Eating…

.

But as the sun of the next day

rises,

the log

starts to disintegrate

and abandons me on its

way to death.

.

~

.

But that

is not the only log of hope.

There are others,

I get a new log everyday at dawn.

.

~

.

With each log’s sustenance boost

I get fatter and heavier.

I now need more than just one log

to keep my girth afloat.

That single daily wooden stick

is no longer able to support me.

.

At this rate

I may sink within the next day.

The next hour~

The next minute~

The next second~

 .

How will I fare

if the sticks

stop coming all together?

How will I continue to live

when even with their help,

I am on the brink?

.

“How can I trust

an outside source

to carry me through the waves?”

I can’t

anymore.

.

I can’t live

depend

on stuffed buoyant sticks.

falling seemingly from the sky

I can’t live

with reality doctored

and dependent

on an outside source.

.

I need to learn.

I need to gain the skills.

To swim

well and fast enough

to carry myself above the waves

to the island of paradise.

Only then will I

forever cease

my ungraceful floundering.

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