The Art of Dying: Water

When one ignores his own distrust, He gives in to a touch of straw, Forged from what the simple lust, His muscles clad in layers of rust. Witness, my daughter, man's fatal flaw. He falls into the riverbed, The mermaid drags him out of his way. He may lose his head and end up dead, With his skin peeled away, or worse yet His soul, the river whore will flay. Manipulation is a staff. Don't trust your heart, go not astray. Will you break the rod in half, Or swim deeper, until the black Is all there is, and the light of day... ... has suddenly been snuffed out, and blown away?