Malcolm tries to die again
despite my best intentions
leaking crimson insides through his gills
as he licks ammonia off the corners of his cell
I bite my nails and sneeze and bless myself
and try to sit and think of something else
Malcolm tries to see my face
but only gets reflection
so he’s feeding on fake rocks instead of food
and as he falters forward, knocking over plastic plants
I spill some salt and sigh and curse myself
I can see you when I go to sleep
I can see you when I try to eat
I can understand if you feel sad
I can’t tell if home feels like a trap
I can understand if you don’t know where else to go
I can’t tell which trap feels like a home
I don’t know
do you feel alone too
when the light burns out
when the clear turns to cloud?
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