I’m up on stage, about to speak.

My voice is quiet, it’s dull and meek.

I dig through my memory, finding the words,

freezing is social suicide, and forgetting is worse.

I stammer, I mumble, anything to fill the silence.

There’s no way to put it, I’m trying to hide it.

But the ink is starting to flood down to my knees,

no one seems to notice the darkness I see.

I start to slip, I’m holding the microphone close.

It’s up to my waist, and the crowd is a ghost.

They’re gone now, all drowning, but on stage I remain.

It’s up to my chest, the pressure builds pain.

The room slowly builds, I’m drowning now.

The doors have opened, as the ink fills up the town.

It’s all way too much for one person to take.

It feels like a dream, I just want to wake.

I’m drowning now, the ink fills my lungs.

I tried to swim, but my body’s given up.

I’m done, I froze, there’s no hope left.

Would it have been different if I swam instead?