We find ourselves,
Clinging to things as they crumble.
Not willing to let go,
But not willing to rebuild.
Our tears, oceans to be crossed,
Our thoughts ships, thrashed at sea.
The salty mist, eating away slowly,
At the deck, bowing our wooden thoughts.
Never to be straight again,
We climb back down in the hull.
And wait for the imminent death,
The end of being as we know it.
The drowning and sinking of thought and memory,
As we retreat and gasp our last breath.