The Worst of Fates

“I won’t be coming back home.” The letters bleed from ink to pen to paper thin; and black washes out as the sea pours in. Tides push and pull me back to you. Posted in Solomon waves, panic in crashing blue. No floor beneath my feet, lost in fires blind. Wade through the worst of fates under pale twilight. The steel rears and bends iron bottom bound. My oiled, airless lungs; my candle burning out. I hear the siren’s song, I feel it pull me down. Sink with the memory of you. Sink with my brothers-in-arms. Sink with the setting of the sun.