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Drift.
Draining of poisons from network of
Webbing and cold veins.
Righteous poignant dread lurking;
Heavy hands hold brains.
As they clasp they grind nails deeper.
The drastic, faulted mind of pale sleeper;
Collapse inward.
Slowly.
Swim. Swim. To drown is too selfish.
But still they escape to hell.
Slipping.
Fish. Fish. They’d jump on the hook.
To fall into the bucket.
If they knew where we sail.
And so;
Impale their numb lips. Repeatedly.
Sweeping me, Briskly across the glass surface,
Of the lake.
This water is mine to take. I learned it,
Heard it: every harsh whisper from sand bed to surface.
Immerse this in cursed lips - numbly flailing.
Tattle-tailing? Desperately wailing in ecstasy.
As if just next to me, it pierces.
Swim. Swim. Deeper than sky can see.
Swim.
Swim from the source to the sea.
Tirelessly.
