I'm drowning again.
I'm splashing, flailing in black water.
The surface is so close, but I can't seem to reach it.
Not even my fingertips can rise from the water.
Gasping, I claw at my blankets for air.
I sit up in bed, sweat sticking my hair to my cheeks.
Only a nightmare, it seemed to be.
The nightmare didn't happen just once.
I was trapped that next night.
Shaking, trembling.
Terrified, afraid.
It took so long to wake up.
YOU ARE READING
Art Will Survive, Artists Won't
PoesíaThis book is a compilation of free-form poetry that I've written. Most of it is pretty personal, but I hope you'll like it regardless. POSSIBLE TRIGGERS: depression, self-harm, lgbtq+, suicidal thoughts
