A Hand Lent

I stepped ahead, Only to sink, The ground was quicksand, And up ahead marshy land, The mire was viscid and fatal, I was down till knees, My hands rose up, Looking for a grip, I found only vacuum, I was sinking for sure and prim, My feet felt terribly soft, As if they were planted aloft, Inches grew on my legs, I had seeped in till waist, Now my legs were disconnected, I felt the quagmire working faster, It was enveloping like a body plaster, I felt its weight on chest, I began praying for the best, My nostrils gave a shudder, As foul gas geyser went up my nose, As if climbing a ladder, It was now neck, My hand still raised for a heck, I still cannot recall, What the crap tasted like, As it forced me in a bite, It was about to blur my vision, Suddenly somebody came, And made the tragedy a game, Soon I was pulled out, And thanked them aloud, Life still leaves me in similar states, I still get somebody to heave my crate, I wonder what might happen, When we leave others flailing and flappin.