my mind feels like it's cast out to sea on a line,
bobbing back and forth over the waves,
I resign myself to ride the tide,
these churning crests
do little to caress the stress inside
anticipating the Bite,
the moment to actually put up a Fight,
I hold tight.
My knuckles clenched,
the smell of my own fear an overpowering stench,
coupled with the realization
that there's nothing I can do to wrench
myself from this course,
of looking over and over these pages
that look more and more like Morse