Third time's the charm
and you've only ripped my heart out
twice

Let me drink the poison
one more time

The first time I was quenching my thirst
with salt water
in hopes the wounds
would heal
and then I swallowed the sea
because my sailor
would not look at me

The next time
I closed my eyes
at the sight of the waves coming
so I cannot blame you
for pulling me under

I will stay afloat this time
unless your anchor has grown
and you still find a way
to drown me
in the tears I created

I won't know until I try

Where do we go as the oar man rows?
I see no light down this stream we flow.
Where do we go as the oar man rows?
In these crossroads I just don't know.

Do you know my dear mother?
Can you hear me, oh father?

Where do we go?
Where do we go?
Where do we go as the oar man rows?

Are there Angels?
Are there Demons?
what am I now?

I am frightened
of the darkness
of the oarsman.

Where do we go as the oar man rows?
Do we just die or do we have souls?
Where do we go as the oar man rows?
Down this dark stream I've come to know.

Where do we go?
Where do we go?
Where do we go as the oar man rows?

I always find you in the saltwater room
where everything burns
and our eyes are closed.
May is monsoon season, here.
It's making me restless-
but maybe its just you.
I cant help but wonder,
was this an ordinary sinking?
You keep looking at me
from the other side.
Eyes unblinking,
and very,
very blue.
The rain keeps drumming on.
It knows I'm home, I suppose.
Perhaps it was no ordinary sinking.
Perhaps something more than you and I
was meant to make it back to shore.
Thats not the point, though.
The point is that I cant remember what kind of boat we were on.
The point is that there's no way to tell.
The point is that saltwater cleans wounds.

I am a paper boat floating down a
Stream, imagination made me from
Yesterdays sport page, read now
Turned in to this boat floating down
This stream.

Calm waters as I float as I pass a fisherman
On the shore, a hat over his eyes as he
Is sleeping not much biting as no fish
In this river that I can see.

I pass a pub only slightly damp as the
Stones thrown by those drinking at the
Shore, I hear a pint to sinks the boat,
But to tipsy are they to throw straight
Lucky for me.

I float bobbing up an down, a fold slips
And up a sail shoots me forward at speed.
But the faster I go the more splashing on
Me. I get wetter down the stream and
I start to unfold more, till there is no boat
Just soggy news paper floating down the
Stream.

It was fun being a boat, as I wash up on
The side of the river, I was once part of a
Tree then a news paper, I became a boat
With imagination, what will I be used for,
Or we I decompose be one with the
Earth I will have to wait and see.

Life is like a boat it's smooth sailing half way through then all of a sudden it gets rocky you start running into rocks almost about to sink then it's back to smooth sailing you start to heal then life hits you again or in this case a rocky shore there is no end to these changes they come and go as they please making your life a living hell making your life unbearable to live in life is like a boat smooth then rocky

It's alienation across the nation.


End of the break
the whistle's blowing
The sailors going only a short way
to heavens
Subterranean souls, yet
extraterrestrial minds
(I want to have a magnificent, celestial time)
Someone is dead
True, someone might be
curled in dread, somewhere
But the staff chooses not to
voice these concerns
to their guests

They-are-all
transported
to a place where their veins
don't show up blue
under that black light, yellow
dans-le-ciel
It's a dalliance for souls
(They are all lost.)
A denouement for souls
(How much does it cost?)

Better question,
who sends them here
(Every zephyr is cold)
who sends them here
to die and behold?
If I had a friend
they would ask,
"Why so alone?"
Because I move with the

Tintinnabulation across the nation.
People saying the most
cringe-worthy---
Like the nation
I fear I have become
an *imbrication
repeating myself in every
application
Working on that steamboat
the-band-wagon
isn't as good as it gets
Saccharine, summery lake
Do we, perhaps, need to escape?

And, perhaps, we can.

Dominated as we are
by Society, who is crying in need
Believes we must be a
panoply!

Swim in the deepest part of the ocean,
With waves over head,
A life pieced by water,
A nautical life,
Or aquatic wonders,
There is no fear,
Living in fairytales,
Mithical creatures,
Sorrounding the waters,
Travel sea to sea,
Hopes disguised as flounders,
Surfers all above,
And here come the divers,
Ready to explore,
The kind I belong to,
Sing to them now,
They'll jump off from sails,
To follow the voice,
Deep in the waters,
Desperate souls,
Following as I speak,
Gullible minds,
When told to go under,
This siren awaits,
For sailors to wonder,
To bring them in deep,
In dangerous waters.

-Kathia Mariana Landeros

Three years to build,
Less than three hours to sink.
A grand ship,
With a haunting history.
More than 2,400 people sailed away,
Yet less than 800 survived.
A ship that could not sink,
Did.