some say that losing control of your life
is like having water rise around your feet.

bit by bit the flood builds
and all the stresses add to its grip
soon it’s at your ankles,
at your waist, at your neck,
then your chin, and nose,
and eyes, and then your
swimming in it, swimming
to avoid drowning but it’s
no use:

the water is pushing you up to the ceiling

and all you have left to do is say your prayers
and think your final thoughts

but that’s not what I think

all that stress,
all those expectations,
all those terrible ideas
that sneak into your head
and then can’t be forced
out

they’re not water

no,
to me
all that
transforms the air,
into something that
drowns you just as fast
if not faster than the
dreaded
water

what I mean to say is:
this is better

that rising water
that inevitability that comes with
having to face your demise in the
face

that cold water is unnecessary
because death is cold enough
already

kings can float on the water
longer than a beggar
their treasures making a life raft
(that should eventually fail)

but when air turns to water
even kings can only
drown