I am running free in the cold of the abyss
Dank and frozen, wet and sticky
Alone and isolated, down in the Abyss.

If I seem fanciful, it is of no regard.
If I seem trite, it's due to my disregard.

As I plot and plan a wicked plea
For the pain to go
For the pain to go
I get no feedback from the sea
Down here in the Dark and Sticky.

Do I feel flesh, cold dank flesh under my feet
Fetid and spoiled, a mold, a lichen, in toil
Does my foot sink down into the flesh
Breaking the barriers to the ignominy within?

If I were to scream, would any here me
Down in the cold, dark, & dank?
A sullen cry may not be despised
By the ignominy from within.

And creep did the flesh go
Inward with my foot in its mouth
Crackling bones and sinew, friendly flesh
Crinkling toes in goo too old?

I look upward for the light, but there is none to be found
At the pit's bottomless bottom
And I reach forward, yet nothing is to be felt
No guide to offer any hope of escape.

And as my feet slips an inch deeper into the gooey mess
I learn a special lesson
That when you refuse to yield to the flesh
You wind up part of the crinkley mess
Nevermore to unwind or unmesh
Always becalming feared and less.

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