River’s flooded–I can put myself
in harm’s way, but when you’re
thrown by someone else…
Sunken, ribcage drowns.
Stained skin and poisoned hair
turn around to dive. They don’t
receive petals, only silken rope
as a reward. They weren’t
kidding with the eternal warfare
parable: no one’s going to save you–
or, they may for a moment, block
the blade from slicing shoulder
blade then flourish and straight
to your spine… how selfish do I have
to be in order to stop caring
that no one’s watching out for me?
Curls to curling water, across green
waves, rearranged sunrays. I chose
well and get to rightfully suffer for it,
cradle in silence until soften bones
reach salt or soil..