Christian Death

The Drowning
Up for three days
up for three days
down under ground for six more
incisions cannot penetrate my feet
tripping, gliding, falling numbly
hands held together with unwanted skin
ripping, hiding calling dumbly
You, in houses of mud
you, in gutter sleep - love
you, born to slaughter - swathed gloves
you dressing daughters and sons
like you - I am broken and fragile
like you - I am tasting my heart for the first time
like you - I am feeding on slumber
like you - I’ve left my eyes far behind me
down for the count I'm still drowning
I'm still drowning