Mechanical clouds,

the pendulum to the pit,

sink lower and lower.

Since I was born,

the threat of water has

been as a canopy above me.

My diving gear is holey.

Everything breaks down

with a promise of pain.

My lungs will fill as sponges,

and then there will be

the catharsis of pressure,

the implosion as the

weight of water lays on me

like caramel on whipped cream.

Forgive me if I’ve already posted this. I don’t mean to spam you. I lost my place in my document and I’m not sure exactly where I left off.