Sink or Swim

It's a slow and painful breath.

As the water pours in, my lungs try harder to send air
but the icy waves have frozen them.
I'm drowning.
I never learned how to tread.

I floated casually for 19 years. There weren't any ripples, tides, any movement until then,
the ones that existed I glided over.
The ripples grew and these waves began to hate me.
Each one I passed collided into the next. They united.
They rose against me.
They betrayed me.
I'm drowning.

All the hover boards thrown at my limp body confused me.
I can't work them.
My arms are tired, my legs are burning.
I can't float anymore.
I can't breathe anymore.

I'm drowning,
and you can't hear my screams.