Forecast had been getting me down,
A puzzle-piece brain rearranging,
Shaking the foundations of my sanity,
Produced for myself, an island alone,
Like Atlantis I would sink to disappear,
Expected to never be found again.

It's stormy,
My strain forming,
Wished I was a story,
Make believe,
Fictional,
Paper-thin product producing purpose.

Instead I was holding onto hot coals,
How in all of the ocean was I alive,
After all the waves and the sharks,
I was alive.