Again.

Down and down and down again,
Plunging into black, hungry waves - 
Never, it seems, to see light or breathe free.

Again. How many more?

But you did breathe once, not long ago. 
Maybe you will again. It's quiet, clever. Like the near-silent tick and tock that cut another second down dead, before you can think to move - 
Another hour buried in dark, dark. No will to fight back.

But when wave after rolling wave breaks, 
Surely I will wash up on some rough shore some day, 
Spluttering and gulping, ravenous for air.

But what else? What now? Will it happen again, again, again? Will I survive this time?