Our love is like the USS Scorpion…
The initial construction was reasonable, but regular maintenance was refused until negligence distilled an inescapable nightmare.
Our love is like the Titan submersible…
It was constructed upon premises that we were warned repeatedly would not go the distance, prompting concern from both professionals and those closest to us.
Our love is like the narco-submarines built deep in the jungle…
No one can know about us, baby. We have to stay under the radar. We were never designed to ascend to great depths but instead to remain superficial. This vessel is not built for comfort; it is a vehicle of misery. Also, I’m doing cocaine.
Our love is like the K-141 Kursk…
Our enemies were so curious that they expended great effort to dig up and examine the wreckage, hoping to find something they could use against us.
Our love is like the submarines of the Cold War…
We intended to harm one another, but ultimately, we only succeeded in destroying ourselves and finding previously undisclosed horrors lurking in the depths of our own oceans.
Our love is like the initial concept of submarines…
Scorned by intelligent people who believed the actualization of such a thing would only serve to showcase the worst traits of humankind.
Our love is like the fallout of the submarine industry…
Leaving empty hulls like dinosaur bones, so deep and indestructible that even if civilization should perish and another species should arise eons later, the possibility exists that they will eventually stumble upon the haunting and disastrous evidence.