Analysis of I'M NOT AT THE SHORE

The spring, the colors and the melody of the shore, coiled together as tendrils of memories,
And are all creeping around the heart,
With me being under this filthy ocean.
It was an insidious wind of melancholy that fetched me here, into this hellhole.

My dreams that I furnished from the shore, outpoured from brain, are now floating away like dumped garbages in the sea.
Under the sea, I battled to breathe and to keep balance to float to live, hopelessly.
I put out my hands out with hope, but no other hands joined.
And all the attempts to get off went futile.

Oftentimes the sun met the horizon, and gradually I got to survive and used to it that I'm not at the shore, but the memories kept on to creep and hold my heart tightly, hurting it.
Sad to say, my home, the shore isn't much farther to reach but I'm weak to swim to land there.
And my only vision is that some strange, kind hands would fetch me back there to the shore, which in I realised it's impossibility.

Per day people hang around the shore, they see the sea, but not me who is under the sea.
I wonder if I'm dead here that I can't act and react on anything.
Why, why this worthless days under the sea happens to me?
It's because I'm not at the shore!