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Madelaine

If you don't learn to write your own story, someone else will write it for you

2 poems·Since August 2013
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The Parallel

August 15, 2013

A swishing, swallowing sea surrounds me.

The soothing sways of motion-

Rock my feeble body.

 My breath grows short-

As muscles contract-

I await the lurch.

A desperate-

 Dying-

 Force-

Compels me-

To the end.

A relentless wrench-

Rips-

My screaming, writhing life-

From the only world I ever knew.

Now I sleep.

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