To the lake of dead serenity, so harsh, wintry, and pale, my sinking ship grudgingly dances without a single, tarnished sail.
For I am utmost weary and always searching a way to my coming demise; never displayed in the public's horrid view, I truly loathe their lively cries.
I swim to the bottom, around the dead bodies, never glancing up to eye the land again; the water calls to me, whispering my existence, it's now the clock to determine the pain.
A tombstone and shackles sleep endlessly down, to them I see the way, I stand in Death's hands, so brittle yet immense; my drowning is initiated today.
The shackles clench tightly to my sickly ankles, the tombstone etches the placement and roll; assuring not a breath is drawn from my body, I clench the organs from my very soul.
The final glimpse of dark moonlight shatters, darkness gives way to my closing eyes; a bubble implodes on the rotting surface, Death's toll had been paid without the lies.