Drowning in the thoughts of my self made wonders, wondering did I think too much?
Thinking about swimming becomes a secondhand stresser to a cross bound to the strangers of never ending mazes.
Thoughts of a passage too deep to sail, my boat has a hole in it, too big to repair.
Arms too weak to paddle.
I wonder how long I can hold my breath?
Smoke damaged lungs seem to be an unworthy qualifier for fresh air.