May Day,
The ship is going under,
And I, the foolish captain,
Must go down with it,
Choosing to believe that,
The deep blue depths are a better source of oxygen
Of this strangled existence we walk together.

For many years my fully conscious corpse,
Trawled the depth thriving on only those,
Who had lost their way and could be led astray,
My skin, wrinkled to the touch,
Grey to the eyes,
Salty to the taste,
Eating itself from within.

I met a strange character,
That looked like an aged me,
His greasy, grey hair flowed in the depths,
His back slumped under the pressure,
He turned to me and said,
I could still share love and joy,
That I was not yet dead.

I now realise,
That I am alive,
And they will never tell me otherwise,
Im not to feel happiness’ warmth again,
But you will not feel the weight of my burden,
No one I love will have eyes
Welled up with these salted tears
Or thighs slashed with hatred’s cold blade.

Because I am alive,
And they will never tell me otherwise.