Over your head

You wade out into the water.

waste deep you feel safe,

enveloped and cradled by it's salty sway.

that is until the gentle current turns ugly,

and the violent strokes swipe at your feet

so that you spiral downward into its unholy arms

then suddenly you feel its cold fingers gripping around your neck

squeezing the air out of your chest with tied hands

choking you down with a mineral smile;

unable to break the surface of its undertow,

you struggle to breathe

and it allows you just enough air to survive, but not enough to keep you sane

you fight it and fight it... but there is no existence above water

in fact there is nothing else any more

except for this inescapable tank we call a life.

Busy

No more busy signals
they are obsolete
instead the opportunity to bare your heart and soul...
in a byte they will delete

to be deleted
to be ignored
to be rejected
to be deplored

Id rather hear that persistent clang
that assures me they are busy
than feel the slow persistent pang
of knowing they purposefully missed me