Shipwreck

Hours bleed into days as my surroundings slowly fade to black. The radio whispers, in its white noise language, it's siren song. It draws me in and throws me back to the sea who takes me while others would not. The water fills my mouth, my lungs, suffocating me in the most pleasant way- weighing me down as I sink to the bottom and wait for someone to pull me up. The rescue is never made, but I'm content with that as I watch the sparkling waves above me. The fish kiss at my skin and pick at my bones until I am nothing more than an empty vessel with eyes. I am the ship at the bottom of the sea- harboring wretched souls as if they were my own. They are, aren't they? Many years into the future I am found- put on display as if some miracle, some object to take pride in. No amount of polish will remove the rust from my bones, no amount of oil will cease the creaking of my lungs. I am a sunken ship. No more, no less.