Swimming

The gray dreary waters are rising up to me fast, causing me to struggle with my swim, that was always a breeze before. The needy water is up to my pupils, but hasn't quite leveled over them yet. Sometimes it gets close, too close for me to blink. Every breath I took in was nothing, as if I didn't need any air to live, but every release was a story of clouds. Dark, grey, thick clouds. The ones you couldn't always see through. They became bigger and bigger until they couldn't be blown away. The metal was gliding across the material, delicately but rougher than it could seem to take. Never erupting, never tearing away. Only stains that I soon wish everyday I could wash out. Stains that cause my cloudy breaths to become a bit quicker. My eyes are closing, literally and figuratively. In a constant state of trying to keep them open, when they keep wanting to close. Mixed thoughts, mangled masks of emotions foreign to my body.