The swim is
an enormous blue road to take.
It never felt like me
when I never felt so free.
It has a heartbeat of its own.
There is a fullness in the undertow.
I've never woken up from a drowning dream.
The mist is a play;
three acts to pay
attention to before going
overboard.
One part patently absurd.
Another disturbed,
while anarchy symbolizes
the third.
The mist is a play
that tries to smooth me away.
I've never overcome a dream.
The sweat and drool
of a long night's hard work
coming true
isn't worth the evidence.
Not the complacency. Not the relevance.
Tortured in my sleep
is the water that seems to keep
me alive.
Where I subside.
And that airy water won't leave me alone.
And that airy water won't leave me alone.
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