Soggy Coffin Throne, a poem to drown by
Soggy Coffin Throne Quietly considering her own mortality, She feels salty water rise. Should she stay sitting, Half buried by crushed seashells, Rocks and bones and sand, Chilly air will be replaced by The unbreathable reality Of her soggy coffin throne As the ocean’s ticking clock Strikes high tide. Continue reading Soggy Coffin Throne, a poem to drown by

