Black Water

Black Water

The water looked calm from the edge,

smooth as an unbroken lie.

Nothing warned me what lived beneath,

nothing marked the reason why.

I stepped in with careless faith,

thinking depth could not be deep.

Cold closed around my ankles first,

then pulled me where light could not keep.

Sound vanished as I sank lower,

the surface felt impossibly far.

Panic bloomed without a voice,

a quiet and desperate scar.

Memories floated past my eyes,

faces I forgot I missed.

Each one shimmered briefly,

then dissolved into the abyss.

The water did not hate me,

it did not rush or fight.

It simply waited patiently,

confident in its weight and might.

I kicked upward with borrowed strength,

lungs burning for another chance.

Darkness loosened its grip at last,

reluctant to release its stance.

When I crawled back onto the shore,

the world felt sharper than before.

Black water teaches survival,

and how thin the line can be once more.