I hope that I'm your Moby ****.

I hope I'm the sneering, many-toothed crocodile from your Captain Hook head.

I hope you awake, late in the night, sweating, hearing a ticking sound,

Because I hope I'll always have just enough of you to haunt you.

I have great confidence you'll think of me often,
so perhaps that's why I could stop thinking of you.

I don't attribute myself much besides longevity,
and to you,
not even that.

One stormy day,
You'll find me,
Covered in ink, washed ashore in a bottle
on the same sands that
tick-tick-tick
your hourglass away.

My message will speak simply of your failure to toss me beyond the tide.

The mind is no place for hiding things, and fate has a way of showing us that.

But perhaps,
Darling,
you're still defying them both.