I have fallen
I won't be there
to break the waves,
to dust the dirt
with bare skin
off your face.

You either
wither and die
or dance with
the coral.

Catch the sun
with your eyes
break the surface
while your body
sings.

Swim with
the kelp beds
or tangle beneath
the hooks &
the strings.

In these moments she shatters her past like glass. Today she is miles from her visions of grandeur and grandmas home cooking. But, beneath the shade of her plastic sun, she chars her soul with self-doubt. Some would say she is more honest now, truer than she ever was before.

A coy fish in a pond with nowhere to swim nor splash. The clear water allowed him to see in all four directions, though there was nothing to catch the eye but four concrete walls and bunches of lily pads.

A tiny spectator circled the grass surrounding the pond. She looked as though she were only 5 years old. A second later she was hastily ripping a lily pad from its roots. Upon discovering no magic beneath its belly, she dropped it and began on her way.

The lifeless plant rested at the ponds edge for weeks before the wind carried it back to its place. It was somehow different now, wrinkled and stretched at the stem, though it floated uniform among the rest. The coy hid in the shadows created by the walls, and watched.

Give me damage
hand me the key
to my misplaced love, my grinding teeth tangle your fingers in
                                                                            mine take what
you                                                                      want          then
                                                                            
leave

damage my soul set me free.

Encased in metal, their bodies careened towards the city. The grinding, the metal on metal screeching, quieted their thoughts.

Head against glass, crowded and foggy, the mother in grey plots her scheme to the nearest bottle of liquor. The man with guilt in his eyes, clutches her hand and wonders when he can get away.

They coast past creeks of muck and cigarette butts. Two bodies on their way to the next hour.

The small girl sleeps on her mothers chest breathing foul ash from the air. Her father smokes with his hand behind a book and exhales sour remorse from his worn lungs.

The mother with heavy eyes, avoids wishful thinking. She has never relied
on luck, so she sits, encased in metal ignoring faces and avoiding eyes.