The flood of distress,

No duct of success,

To help me repress,

It all down the drain.

I choke on the rise,

Water to my eyes,

Can’t dry off demise,

Because it will rain.

Up to my forehead,

Soaked in damp dread,

Remembrance bled,

Yet it feels no pain.

The wound lacks its sting,

But, to me, it brings,

A honed ache that clings,

And spills out my veins.

I cannot swim to,

The end of the blue,

Distress follows too,

An undying stain.

There’s no chance I’ll last,

Days and days will pass,

I’ve sunken down fast,

At the floor I’ll remain.