Fetal position
Gathering my survival tools
As the tears begin to carve canyons down my face.
Tissues are ineffective water buckets
I'm losing ground
Puddling tidal waves
Now losing sight of the shore.
The phone rings
Splashing wakeup call
Drifted almost too far to pick up,
But the life ring was tossed
When my canyons echoed your words
It's okay.