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.