The dead don't swim.
one would hope...
I was dead in the water before I took my shoes off to swim.
I lay still, contemplative. Bored. Afraid.
and stuck.
and drowned in the downward slope of mathematical prediction
with precision to promise a delicious spiral staircase winding,
ever so slightly,
down,
and down,
and down again.
Dead. So many times over.
Death before life. A thousand times.
The scythe in the night. Every night.
She comes for us all.