I bled beautifully,
Like a fresh teabag in hot water.
The trickling scarlet had me in a trance,
And beckoned me with a beguiling smile.

And so I swam on, upriver.

Against the current
Despite the inevitability of failure,
Of disappointment, danger and death.

It wasn’t hope, no,
More so the inability to distinguish
Disaster from desire; affliction from affection
Because they’re closer than one would expect.

And so I swam on, upriver.

But of course,
I was glass—
Flagrantly transparent—
And at last,

It all shattered into twelve shards
So fine,
That I couldn’t even tell which were yours, and
Which were mine.