@Musician 14 March 2022 more from that month

Poem about quicksand I am not a pig. And I bathe in the mud. I better say I swim in the mud. Or not. I keep my balance in the mud. Or maybe to be realist. I am drowning. I am swallowing mud. I am barely on the surface. How long have I been in the mud, you will think I like mud. There is healing mud. Women apply a mud mask to their faces. To look younger. There is a sport in the mud. But I am not talking about that mud. I am talking about 30 years in the mud. Harsh reality. A housing loan is a quicksand. I swim and drown. Every month. Until the end of life. No way to be on the surface. I always swallow a little. In the end, I convinced myself that the mud is ok. I am used to it. Maybe I am a pig. And I don't know? No, I am a man. They made me feel like a pig. Beware of quicksand. Author: Musician Lead image source: unsplash Thanks a lot for reading.