06 April 2011

"Can't get the stink off, it's been hanging round for days"

The briefest glimpse into the abyss through which we have sailed,...

Three damned souls descend the rusted, encrusted ladder. Clamber aboard, hatch, and on down, backwards into the broiling bowels - sweat, fetid feet and fuel. Submarine walls ebb and flow, bunks pitch in the pitch, diesel crosses lung linings to course constricting veins, the bitter black veil descends. Shackled to the shapeless waters. Invisible tar black tentacles rise, reach down gagging gullets, wrench, acidic retch - uncontrollable convulsions, clear-biled oblivion.

[Hyperbole? What hyperbole?]

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