Welcome to the undertow!
There’re eight ways to freedom,
but only one that you can go.

It’s down, down — while spinning ’round,
feeling the stretch in the struggle,
though hearing not the slightest sound.

No gasping. No gushing. Just blood rushing
to the fear center of the brain
as water’s weight feels more crushing.

Surely, you’ll surface in due time
though, maybe, miles-and-miles away.
They’ll tag you: “Victim, sans a crime,”
and go on about the live-long day.