arms up

I throw up
my arms,
throw up and grab
for the rope
that will pull me
out of this mess.
I can't seem to get
out of my own head,
can't seem to get
out of this cycle
of thoughts that
is pulling me
to its centre vortex,
without ceasing.
I'm going down the
drain to the pipes,
but I'm too big
I get stuck,
but I spin in place.
If only I knew how to
end you.
This might be what
grief looks like.
And maybe it is good
to experience death
many times before
death so it isn't
such a shock when it comes.