in metaphor. A metamorphosis of breath, and the air swims in water until I have none left to give. They go up, to bed, to dinner, to Sundays roasted in hellfire and Mondays saturated in sin.

because I am 70% water and if I stay I will be filled

and popped from the inside out. How to wrap myself into a sphere, tiny globes of rainbows that will make me ephemerally Earth-like? Greedy fingers always seek the heart for riches, and at last, my empty innards will be missed, desired.

like tubs of shampoo bubbles

and aluminized plastic on trees, a poetic death for the one who was afraid of leaving quietly in the night. The water refracts light into kinds of itself, bending streams into golden ribbons that weave through salt and hair and weeds who reign free.

collapsing

against the surf, and divided kernels of sand don't stand a chance. United, I am powerfully mute in the face of the moon's decree and wind's war cry. Seabreeze, I sink and sink and build shipwrecks by cramming fireworks in my mouth and wrapping my bloated body in curtains of bubble wrap, seafoam frothing as I wait for the inevitable explosion.

into a contented rage.

that is recycled. Eons and the same ions remain, remolded time after time. Evidence of a death obsessed over.

posted on: https://writetheworld.org/?code=3bd44680-09e0-40be-81e4-a18235598cc0#/viewing-a-piece/757596