I enter her stomach with my own tired legs, and I whisper to the heaving metal hisses beneath me; as perhaps she only yearns to hear a voice addressing her in between the sardine packed after hour rush. A guiding noise through the fluorescent lit cabin full of colourful hollow people.
Perhaps she waits for an “I know your name.”
what if she was stripped away from her manufactured number? And perhaps she wants to know the names of the places where she's been, and where her life began. Perhaps she wants to know the places she’ll go before she ever goes there. I harbour all the knowledge, any yet lack the ability to speak her language.
I print a hand onto the smooth walls of her insides pressing my ears against her cool glass to hear her constant ringing and unstable heart. She brings me along on her predetermined journey, and I watch as parasites filter in and out of the gills she cant control