Fish Bowl

I’m at my regular booth,

but I might as well be in a haunted attic

I’ve got these ghosts –

whispering behind my back

hiding under the coasters –

and they dive into my glass

spin my head to churn out regret and loathing.

My words aren’t pretty off late:

they’re just full of spite and feelings that I can’t feel anymore.

 

I’m already looking down at my next free-fall,

walked this plank for too long

at the edge of your cutlass.

The sea will spit me out like a cork

because it doesn’t want me.

I don’t know when I learned to hold your name synonymous

with being alive.

Save your breath and strangle my soul

will you ever be happy to just let go?

Everything here wishes it was somewhere else.

 

I’m a negative of a person.

I want to fill my lungs with the ocean.

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