When you hear 'drowning' you think of water, don't you?
Well, I don't know how to swim.
I imagine when I step into a pool of water, I'll know how to.
Somehow.
You know that casual manner of adjusting
into situations we've never been in before
because we've imagined it happening so many times in our heads,
it just jumps into reality.
*
Ever since, I've been afraid of heights.
I still am.
Growing up, I never drew water from a well.
I always felt I would suddenly fall
or jump down into this abyss of the earth.
So, I wasn't mainly scared of being pushed,
I was scared of my own curiosity.
*
So, how do you swim out of a well then?
Sorry, wrong question.
What happens when drowning
has little to do with water?
You're like, "Sam, it's impossible to drown in a fire, you know."
Of course I know, Silly."
But I've had days when I feel the ground crack beneath me;
And out of the crevices,
a thousand hands crawl out
like slender shadows, dragging me
to return with them,
And as soon as they wrap their fingers around my foot,
I feel my flesh begin to burn.
I've had nights when the interior of my head
refuses to be an asylum to shield my thoughts from sinking
and spreading within the chambers of this stone body.
Isn't that, too, drowning?
When every surface a part of you touches turns into quicksand.
Isn't that, too, drowning?
YOU ARE READING
Anxiety and Things that Shatter
Poetry"Anxiety, you are lightening and a thunder only I can hear. In my despair, you wear an intimidating smile like a glittering stretch mark on the skin of the horizon." Cover by @DeathsDarkSoul
