i walk into the lake and die therethe search team drags nothingbut water to the shore
i was just a kid after alland my blood hadn’t learnedto boil over it yet
a fish belly of a bodyroams the neighborhoodslike a nightmareand drools over living rooms
floating past the quiet houseswith scratches on the doorpast the translating childrenand their milky eyed mothers
if there’s an endingfrom which you emergeand stop beggingi picked the wrong one again
all my white knuckled prayersall the times they couldn’t find mecurled up with soft spongy wristsi agree with all of them

Photo by Samuel Ferrara on Unsplash