Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
Megan Foster Aug 2017
Another freak storm rips this small island apart,
a large boat with sun bleached black paint
lands on my chest. Again.

And now I'm drowning.
Wait, where's the boat?
Where did all this water come from?
I know how to swim, why am I not swimming?

maybe that's why my arms and legs
shake so **** violently;
trying to swim against an imaginary ocean.

Wait, it's imaginary?
How am I drowning if it's imaginary?
And why is this ugly vessel still crushing my frail ribs
if it isn't here?

I can't think, I can't stop thinking.
Please launch the life jacket towards me,

I know you mean well,
But your touch in the middle of my own personal storm
makes me want to rip my forearm from my elbow.
i'm sorry.

The thunder muffles my apology,
watered down by tidal wave tears.

When will this be over?
When will the final wave of this tsunami pass?

Wait, I can see the beach.
I swear through my saturated eyes I can see the shore again.
I see the sand, it looks bright,
oh so much brighter

The storm is almost over now,
all the fires are now reduced
to smoke rising,
unfortunately it is trapped and cannot escape.

— The End —