whale.

i plunge into cold as soon as i reach the edge, sharp crater rocks invading the tender soles of my feet just before liftoff. i am alone and the wreckage of the ship looms, an island on my right. boulders and open sea to the left. i am a frog machine efficient and fast fighting the demons of my imagination. they are sounds underwater, my heart in my ears magnified by the thinness of the atmosphere through which i face my fears.
the stairs chiseled out by a bearded grecian before my bedtime story pull me effortlessly onto the whale. she floats 20 ft out of the water but her tail descends at an alarming rate a slide into the forboding side, the open sea.
curiouser and curiouser.
tiptoe over squishing seabeds and sink deeper into water the titanic struck by iceberg i am.
pockmarked are wells open in the hull that fall forever into turquoise. it is not the fish i am terrified of, they are no bigger than a finger
but the feeling that under my feet is sea for miles deep and before me nothing but an infinite infinite infinite horizon.
i am standing on the edge of something huge.