Far off in the deep, blue, icy ocean,
Silent creatures scuttle on blackened sand,
Creeping monsters constantly in motion,
Crawling things denying dead man's command.
A tentacled cephalopod flies past,
Leaving a trail of suffocating black,
The ink blinds and reminds you of your past,
In Memories, nothing can bring you back.
In this dense black cloud, life is but a dream,
Dreams are wishes that are never answered,
Life is a memory that makes you scream,
The pain of knowledge grows, having cancered.
Then you wake up from the smothering dark,
The truth of existence leaving its mark.
