As I see your texts flash across my scene,
I notice how those letters
don’t look like they’re holding up your world.
They don’t look like they’re trapped on a single page of a hometown small atlas,
far away from any oceans.
As the first leashed fish I’ve ever seen,
I can see you tearing at your shrinking collar,
never having needed claws before.
Finding yourself belly up,
Accustomed to suffocating
On behalf of the guppies running from
Their own sharks.
I wonder if they know that they put their blood on you,
Making you smell like a prime target
For demons and sharks alike.
Hoping if you swim this way
And that
You’ll create a whirlpool,
Big enough, small enough,
Enough,
In your longer than expected attention span,
Hoping that the funnel might drag away their sharks,
But now you find it was not the demons,
But they who didn’t know how to swim,
And you
Struggling to teach what is innate to you,
Finding you’ve made your own endless funnel,
Drowning in the water that taught you to breathe.