Sailing to the edge of the world,

I travel with the painter’s daughter

We float for miles and miles,

over the black and bitter water.

 

We’re dying every day, but never dead

like ghosts trapped in a shell,

from where we sit, the world is gray,

in this little boat we call hell.

 

It’s strange indeed, this painful need

which we both share

to catch wind again, and leave this

dreaded place, which we call nowhere

 

So never drop anchor, never turn this ship ’round

we’ll see this til the end,

and I’ll waste away, as we waste away

these days together, my friend

Kevin Nguyen

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