I Meant To Die Sunday

Within the coldest depths of pure ice
I plundered
not knowing what I’d find there
if anything
on this Sunday, of all days.
I knew after the icy waters had closed over my head that I was gone
never allowed to come back up again
never allowed to surface
and breathe the cold crisp air above the sea
that I’ve grown to know so well
in my weeks of staying here.
I suppose now is the time when people laugh
and assure themselves that they’ll get through this
but I’m unsure,
and that’s never a good thing
for I’m still floating in these dark waters
my head is still submerged
and the air in my lungs
is becoming less and less abundant
with each passing second
that pounds through my head
and every last one of my veins.
I just had to get curious
and come up here, hadn’t I?
On this Sunday, of all days.
Now look at me,
I can’t even breathe
and I can’t even see –
something just brushed against my foot
sweet heaven let me be!
I can hear a clock in my head
ticking away at every second
and every minute.
Three minutes
and thirty-seven seconds
I’m so light headed
the darkness
continues to close in around me
maybe a small rest will do me justice…
yes…
I’ll take a nap right here in this water
so deep
and black though it is…
and I’ll laugh about all this when I wake up.
This Sunday, of all days.