She always has the rights words, tucked behind her ear.
Her ballerina feet dance on broken glass.
She'll be gone soon.

She flies with clipped wings.
Falling, scraping every inch of the sky,
until we scrape her off the pavement.

In the center of the lake sits the mermaid,
running bleeding fingers through tangled masses of hair.
Tears streak her hazy face like hazel clouds streak the sky.

She does not understand the consequences
of unrequited love.
Hers are not the bloodied feet.

It is the ballerina's turn to go.
She bows, gracefully, then jumps out the window.
The crowd falls silent; she is bleeding on the floor.

The mermaid's screams fill the air.
Her cries flood the ears of passersby
as water floods her lungs.

She is swimming to shore
to reunite with the ballerina.
The toxicity of unrequited love catches up with her.

The mermaid pulls herself out of the water
and onto the pavement.
This is her swan song.