I am a cold, bleak and weary melody;
Forced out of guitar strings, alone,
a solitary piece made by a starving man.
My low notes bring down the sturdiest ship,
dragging its corpse to lay down on the sea-floor.

I am a low pitch plea of woeful "help me";
a drowning man swallowing water as his
mouth seeks the air.
My voice is wispy smoke of years of no use,
contaminating the very lungs from which it originates
from.
And sleep, she is a blissful siren.
Bringing me to underwater caverns-
chanting and humming melodies as the pressure
takes me down under and my eyes close in surrender.

I am more dead than my corpse will ever be;
just an empty sea-shell-
no pearl, no life.

Got money for *** and gambling,
but you're leaving your bills
on someone else's tab.
People are telling me to jump ship.
It's getting harder not to oblige.
I live in multiple states
of anxiety and depression,
ain't it grand?
No "God" here, no "God's will",
quit chittering your religion like
it's a ******* verb; wallowing
in filth, and next is misery.
I'm steadfast on sinking
in this **** already.
I'm still here.

i am sinking slowly, bubbles escaping my mouth, racing their way to the surface, competing towards their imminent death.

I watch, spellbound by their journey towards the sun. But i am not racing, i am not floating, i am sinking. Sinking lowly but surly towards oblivion. I am content though, feeling at peace with what is, what was and what could be.

The water starts to crush but i don’t mind, i take it as a blessing of sorts, i like this, condemned to be nothing more than what i am right at this moment. I like not being in control for once. I like the salted taste of the water as i watch the last bubbles force their way from my closed lips without my consent.

I close my eyes, feeling the weight of the water consume me and i slide back into the reality of my mind, encased beneath a blue world.

This one feeling,

is one I truly

U N D E R S T A N D.



I'm just empty,

Disconnected from

E V E R Y T H I N G.



And for a moment,

it's as if I don't

E X I S T.



l.r.

A shot fired across the deck
a weakened hull. A turning tide.
Well, all our anchors hang on chains
and dangle off our changing minds.

I'm not swimming back to shore,
     not this time.
Claw at water, grabbing sand.
Spent all this time with seaburnt eyelids
squinting back at conquered land.

     Squinting back at conquered land.

I am just a paddling rogue
awash in charges, lost at sea.
My toothless mouth just won't stop smiling
as this makeshift life raft starts to leak.

A swimming rat begins to sink

Fire a shot across the deck.
All this ocean and no drinks.
Fire a shot across the deck.
Fire a shot across the deck.

Got that sinking feeling,
like a man taking off in an elevator.
Going up but somehow left behind.
I got that, "your time is up" aura
drowning me from all around,
inside and out.
Like being eaten by ants.
The hand that twitches
at high noon.
The ex-fastest.
The wick at it's end.
Wax running off the table.
Dying in a fever dream,
cold towel on my head.
Obsolete technology in a dump
next to banana peels and
soggy pornographic materials.
Yesterday's news being shredded
into todays toilet paper.
From a greasy grumpy retail worker
all the way
to a corpse in a crash test simulation.
Being fed your own organs,
genitals first.
Standing in a hail of glass
without an umbrella.
Standing at the edge of the world
with an Antagonist behind you
in steel toe boots. Glaring.
Possibly upset.
That just flunked bronze sensation.
A sinking feeling.