And the Bell Tolled

Itโ€™s a quarter to cremation
itโ€™s half past life
and the longer I remain here
the further I float,

with my eyes open wide
my beck becomes a river
white and purging my scarred skin
from any traces of a lucid life,

and the river becomes a lake
and the lake becomes the sea,
and freshwater fish turns salty
in this my reality,

where the quarter bell tolls
just in time.

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