(20 minute poetry)

At fifteen atmospheres and my breath comes automatic,
life is very casual though death can be dramatic.

Nitrogen and helium,
I'm existing without oxygen.
I
resist reverse psychology it wouldn't do that much for me.

Blue turns black the depths are back
new fashion's everywhere, but at twenty seven atmospheres no one's there,
no one to bear a witness to the death if life was ever you.

Ice.

The third man follows on as he always did before?
snow blindness made him falter but he's coming in and what is more, this time he's not alone.