Undertow

Don't mean to panic you
but I can keep my voice
as quiet as a whisper.
Not sure you were aware.
I flailed
for awhile,
now I flail no more.
I am caught
in a strong undertow,
no need
for reaching for branches.
That would be pointless,
idiotic.
I am
tired.
I am
not even
curious.
I can't
or won't
raise my eyebrows.
I am
disconnected.
Everything I see
is in tunnel vision.
I see everything,
my life
through a long hallway
like I
were merely an observer.
I wonder if Plath or Sexton
felt this way.
Was there a big
"this is it"
moment?
Or was the final straw
more attention getting
gone awry?
Frankly
adulthood sucks.
Specifically
expectations,
obligations,
the fact that everything
is closing in around me.
I can be undone
by the simplest things anymore.
Fried chicken,
it's true!
I - a chef
can be done in by fried chicken,
by a word,
or an inflection in voice.
I have no
inflection in my voice,
so read this
in monotone.
Read this,
as quietly as possible.
I am
not to be found.
I am
to slip underneath the water
and be caught
in the undertow.