The Water Waits

I fall asleep in my bed

and I wake up treading water,

my head occasionally

dipping underneath.

-

You grab around my ankles

and you pull me down,

the most alluring anchor,

and it is only my instincts

which try to resist.

-

Under here, my body becomes weightless

there’s an inexplicable freedom

that I try to elongate

as my lungs kick

and bubbles escape

my pale face,

becoming paler.

-

You’ve adjusted to not breathing,

and you move with a fluency

a fluidity

that I aspire to emulate,

-

you engage with the land,

ten toes gentle upon the sand

while my legs kick at increasing speeds

and force me away from you,

despite my every wish.

-

I rise back to the surface,

gasping deep breaths,

mind dizzy and disoriented,

ankles bleeding from small bite marks.

-

I orbit around

waiting for your grip again

knowing it won’t come,

that you are happier far below,

-

and my empty stomach growls

its most animalistic sound

and I feel faint, but still don’t move

-

waiting, waiting, waiting

-

praying that you may

try again to take me home,

a tempting call to eternity

-

like the packets of pills

I pass by each morning,

but I know that you’re not coming

much as I wish you would,

-

my life threatening to change

to break the chains at last

but only ever bending them

and sending me back,

-

kicking and screaming,

back to all that I fear and hate

slurp it up and smile

-

the water waits

but it doesn’t want me,

not today.