OCEAN MADE OF DEATH

I got stranded on the distant sands of sadness
After drowning in the ocean made of death.
There’s only me: there were no more survivors
And nothing left except for my own hollowed self.

I clawed my way out of the blackness, yet to fathom
That there’s no wreckage left to cling to in the low,
And all the sounds are just the echoes of the phantoms.
The shore is vast, yet I have nowhere left to go.

The waves’ indifference is just a hollow hum,
The cold keeps beckoning me back into its depths,
And now there is no way for me to turn back home
Unless I swim back through the ocean made of death.

My lifeboat’s lost, on muddied ocean floor it lies.
The sun gave way, yet moon shall offer no relief:
Medusa blinded me before I closed my eyes;
I am surviving on a shoreline carved by grief.

The sirens’ calling is the only thing I hear.
The depths have learned the shape of me by now.
The winds could carry me if only I knew how
To sew my sails, and sail away from here.

I’d pray the waves would grant me one last breath,
Should I swim back right through the ocean made of death.

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Набросал на смене отвлечься ради. Из одной метафоры - вагон рефлексии.