Swimming

I'm no big fish in little water.    
More like a small fish who longs  
for the abyss that I miss, with    
higher levels of reef that get hotter    
than women in my dreams of sheer bliss    
or the rage in my friends who look upon    
and see my skills as tragically squandered.    
    
Sorry but my shots seem to have missed.    
That was long ago, and now    
I no longer bother dismissing.    
I only listen and nod along, as they sing songs that insist    
my bow is dusty because I've never even shot her.    
They know nothing of my ambition's slaughter.    
   
Now I'm pledging to again swim free,    
not in this pond but the enveloping sea    
to let darkness develop me.    
Eyes wide open, scoping out seaweed sights,    
knife blade fights and unforgivable felonies.    
These eels and squids occupying    
places that once read as hell to me.    
Now I see them as warm, informative and welcoming.    
   
Eyes on my back keep backstabbers    
from sneaking up and scalping me    
as I do the work and absorb, like pot plants on balconies,    
or roses on porches, I remain porous and spit up    
whatever isn't helping me.    
Right now that's you with    
all the crap you've been telling me.    
   
It's got me packing up in the back to    
save my self from your flak and sink    
deep in six packs before going out    
and practising alchemy.    
The world is big, for me and others it's    
only half the size that it's about to be.    
We all knew I'd be back to this life,
undoubtedly.  
   
Light's dimming,    
our glasses are brimming,  
my feet kicking,  
surrounded by women,    
I hold my breath and catch depth    
only captured by sinning,  
The cold abyss I'm lost within  
again has me grinning.    
I'm back to swimming.