Three
my tendons ache. my anchor ties itself into an iron bowtie. the sea floor is merely an apparition - an experienced diver knows that god’s gaping jaw lies right underneath. I’m a vessel. an ornate iron maiden. I plummet downwards unaware of my fate. will eternity turn me into a barnacle-encrusted headstone, or will stomach acids dissolve me into an example? despite being trapped in my metallic endoskeleton, my bones feel gelatinous.