Submerged

Slowly feeling hope seep from my pores like sweat; I gather my emotions carefully and attempt to breathe:
No success.
The gasps turn from random to constant. I'm trying but I can't seem to catch any air. I'm used to it now, but it burns my chest to inhale the void that sits around me.
It tears my spleen when I push to exhale, exuding more of the fluid steadily filling my lungs: I'm Drowning.
No one hears me scream as each cry is crushed with tidal waves.
I see everyone staring, waiting for me to save myself, not knowing that I can't.
Not knowing that I've tried, not knowing that I've failed.
Tired hands and feet push one more time to swim toward an exit.
Moving feverishly in vain in the direction of sunlight.
I view morning 's brilliance as an escape route. Instead, it's a continuation of the night's regrets.
Does each day bring renewal, or continuation of monotone breath?