Mermaids die with mortal souls

At least that’s what Hans Christian wrote

And so we’re born with shallow holes

Where hearts should be.

Where nothing sleeps.

And when our bodies turn to froth

And mouths agape sing final notes

We wash away upon the waves

And dwindle to an arctic haze.


A darkness born of quill and ink

To drift to fog upon the sea.

His holy words.

His blasphemy.

His written verse has rendered me


And stolen my infinity.