He traced my limits with dripping fate,
A careless god with a water-drawn gate.
I ran in circles—dry shrinking fast,
Each lap a loop, a haunted past.
The lines closed in, the world grew tight,
No sky above, no edge in sight.
Till even breath became a crime,
And drowning felt like passing time.
But something wild refused to die,
Not strength—just rage at a soaking lie.
I kicked the flood, broke rules of grace,
And carved my way through scattered space.
Now here I stand, soaked to skin,
On dry land, breathing in—
Like I was never trapped at all,
Like the flood was just a small downfall
A boy spills water on the ground.
He drags his finger through it, drawing a circle.
An ant gets trapped inside the wet boundary.
It keeps walking, confused, trying to find a way out.
The boy keeps shrinking the space, closing it more with each new water line.
The ant starts circling faster, its dry ground disappearing.
Soon there’s nowhere left to stand—just water.
It struggles, floats a bit, almost drowns.
Then suddenly, it fights back.
Pushes through the water, breaks the trap.
And somehow—it walks out.
Back on dry ground.
Like nothing happened.
