Blundering Mademoiselle

My fatigues will be stripped from me like grimy clothes once I slip into a death-like slumber.

I sag into the bathtub, it's cracked edges and missing feet symbolize something, but the fog is too hazy in here to know what.

It's too hazy in my head, I'm a witch's brew, ready to screw with your head and heart.

"Caligula," everyone beckons. "Caligula, Poseidon is taking over, and you must fight him. Rally the troops, Caligula."

The clammy thought sticks to my brain. I can only gesticulate, words left me behind in the trenches of the craggy bathtub.

My crudely crafted chessman follow my points as we traipse to Poseidon's fingertips, waiting to just be pricked by the shaft of their swords. 

I collapse and let Poseidon's blood curl around me. 

The  blundering mademoiselle is no more.