we told you not to swim in the muddy water--lung smash in chalky bubbles, molten horns engulfing your descent & yet you scream: 'i can swim to stay afloat when every one of you weeps over what i'm getting, such poetry you'll never know.' so we begin to weep at the blood fountain & shards & shattered flesh erupting in the pond, while a serpent splashes her tail to seize you. colors drip from your lean, youthful body & you're now a grey corpse in a nest from hell. & we cry at the sight of your fingers through the ripples: 'we told you not to do it.'
The pond looks so innocent - still, I enjoy the darkness of the prose.
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