It is warm outside; the clouds roar overhead. Light weakens and leaves turn and flip. Storm winds howl, skies blacken dead.
There’s a bitter sweet fluid streaming down my throat- my ears are clogged and vision blurred. I call out but cannot be heard.
I feel no hurt, but I know this pain. I’ve felt it before, I’ve seen it a time ago- I saw it in a dream.
It seems I am floating, walking through air, when in fact I have hit bottom, and can breathe no air.
My eyes are frozen, to forever look ahead. My hair surrounds me, my limbs like flawing lead. I doubt you’ll ever find me:
The bottom is my bed.