I am drowning. The water leaks into me, Into my cracks and crevices, Filling the very heart of me. I am broken wood, Paying the price for my weakness, Water spilling over me like Water. Like blood. Through the black spots dancing before me, I see a face, A halo of sun. You are an eclipse. Through the blue blankness I see Your hand plunging down, With the last of my strength, I reach up to you. Your hand around my wrist, Water at my ankles like shackles, Like anchors. You tug, but I am too much. Come up, come up, come up for air, Somewhere beyond t he abyss I can hear you shouting But I cannot come up for air. And I have never held your wrist Like you hold my wrist. You have never clung to me for life, So when I slip, You let me. By Molly Burdick
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AuthorWe are a group of multi-disciplinary writer-types who are committed to collective creation. Writing doesn't happen in a vacuum, it happens at a table. Archives
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