I
Half of me has already died
and lies inside
the wallpaper called my skin
What is left within? I ask,
What is left within?

The past has been washed away
the future in blue-darkness
I am submerged
in the deep-dull ocean

I’ll drown here
I’ve said it for the last year
yet my lungs have not filled with water
they’ve stayed filled with air
that’s life, you know
underwater, in this cold sea of despair

But I’m Socrates
why, why, why, why
must I let this murky water
eat me alive?

These questions come and go
such as the women
talking of michelangelo

The water runs
deep in this hollow-hole
of something once called
my soul

my soul

My soul
hanging by a string
that’s me, you know
I am just the string
grasping something so heavy
oh, the hell I’ll bring

The water runs cold
turns to ice, like stone
But
my soul is alive
my soul is on fire
let it melt like butter
and burn like desire

II
Alas, with life melted away
underwater I still lay
and to my dismay
nothing has changed

I’m back where I began
underneath the water,
smothered by the hand
of the greatest man
forever and only known
as Mr. Jones

He holds me down
underwater

God
he’ll make me drown

No
my soul is alive
my soul is on fire
let it melt like butter
and burn like desire

I singed his hand
he let me go
as I float to the surface
to and fro
only to be greeted
by the lovers
of Mr Jones

With their fiery hearts they push
me back down

Back to the ocean
back here to drown