Plague Ship

Drowning, struggling.
I come up just for enough air
to shout for help,
but no one can hear me.
I never made it
above the surface,
and what I take in
is a long, heaving gasp
of cold,
of salt.
Are these tears?
What ocean made this chill?
What long black wave
is rolling over me,
carrying me out
on the tide?
Desperation sinks me,
and my clothes weigh me down,
unfurled sails
dragging me to the sea floor,
leaving me broken and wasted.
Tonight, I’m nothing but a shipwreck
with ruined cargo.

About Catastrophe Jones

Wretched word-goblin with enough interests that they're not particularly awesome at any of them. Terrible self-esteem and yet prone to hilarious bouts of hubris. Full of the worst flavors of self-awareness. Owns far too many craft supplies. Will sing to you at the slightest provocation.
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