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