It floods in,
fills up,
crushing,
hungry.
Dragging, panicked.
Whose hands?
Mine.
One.

Two.
 

Three.

Four.

Five.

Six.
Seven.
Eight.
Nine. Ten.
Hands.
Too many.
Too many hands.
Deeper, suffocating.
Spiraling.
Flashes
of light.
Blinding.
Screaming.
Then silence.
Could have left.
Should have left.
Stayed too long.
Death
was just down the road.
Threatening
blind eyes.
I failed
to change,
to realize,
to go beyond
and find myself anew.
It is
my fault.
Now,
I will perish.