She sits on the bow and dangles her feet,
a rigid cloaked figure looms on the stern.
She runs her hands across the skeletal vessel,
thick mist twists and slivers past her cheek.
A coin-filled cage hangs off the Ferryman's arm
as he pulls an ore through the ominous glow.
A rusty lantern rocks and steadily creeks,
bright green flames lick the Ferryman's robe.
Into the void, into the churning ink
he gently rows across the river of woe
where no one hears her scream.

You deserve a better version of me,
I'm merely existing;
constantly drowning myself in Bourbon whiskey.
I've been baptized by my demons,
chastised with the heathens,
yet I'm blessed to have you on standby;
patiently waiting in the Garden of Eden.