There were dolphins on the ceiling,

their grey bodies in greenish waters,

dancing through shadows cast by artificial moonlight

 

I pretend the hairs interrupting my vision,

are endless Gothic spires, like fingers,

Pointing down at me, wet with salt,

 

Some vast darkness stirs below me,

Four chair legs hands deep in ocean,

My feet quake with cold and numbness,

 

Porpoises, childlike in their nature

Clicking in cheerful chatter,

It terrifies me,

 

They've come as hands of death,

Laughing, flitting teeth destined to tear flesh,

To strike down to bone and beyond,

 

There is a skeleton in my chair

waiting to be released in an arctic bath,

To decay into dust,

 

The currents call,

echoing winds through decrepit wood,

broken masts and sails,

 

Darkness engulfs the white cross,

on my parent's ivory rosary,

God is dead and I'm to take her place,

 

In the bottom of the ocean,

Vast nothingess,

Suffocating in the depths,

Lost in an apathetic stare,

In a redundant coil of a self-eating snake,

The question why