Wading in Waiting

I find myself lifeless

and tethered to a thin web

by stale wrists .
This twine
a fragile network

of an intricate descent.

 I look down to the waters below

the depth  that will swallow me whole

... inevitably.

I wade in discord

within a mass of air

so thick with

unease

from all these things

left unsaid.

My fingers have grown weary

upon the thought of slipping down.

Impatient and defeated

in the dreary days of waiting

I fight to take hold of what once was a rope.

With so many facets of this collapse to consider, 

they are only reflected by the crashing tides

I wade above. 

I feel the tension loosening

within my grasp

as I inch closer to the

intensity

of ache

that strains towards me.

As long as I’ve spent wading and waiting,

I feel I have no choice but to let go.

My only solidity

rests in knowing each stretch I fall,

I will always find myself.  

It will be wet.

It will freeze me to my core.

 And these bones will thaw,
 just as surely as it was I to drop.