Beached

Might, could, probably should,
Uncertainty eats me alive,
My stomach feels empty and bloated,
Like the pebble dashed waves
Pulling back over the beach,
Scouring and sucking the energy away,
Exposing a landscape of broken shells,
Rotting seaweed and smooth ground rocks.
Welcome to my mid-life beach
Keep pouring water over me,
I’m hoping the tide will turn.