consistent metaphor

The ice is thin, but I am light

just enough to glide on it, twirling

giddy, over-the-top sliding

“Having fun?” they ask from the well-lit sidelines

I am. For now I can spin

just waiting for that incredible plunge

that sudden second of insecurity

which pulls me

under

to be lost again, always drowning,

fists dull-thump pounding up

trapped beneath.

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3 thoughts on “consistent metaphor

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