whales cry through the thick of glow.
the ocean’s horizon tastes of sweet brimming icicles
which stretch and pierce the yonder of my cheeks.
it meets my tongue like that of furious Listerine.
the sea stands like eloquent silly putty.
like a liquid omnipresence.
a guardian filled with bubbling pockets
of fluid little soldiers,
marching beyond knowing.
they watch. they leave.
they care – but they don’t care.
they’re just there.
like a horde of orcs
but much prettier and more ethereal.
the glistening liquid encircles me like a sloshing skirt
squeezing me inwards like an oceanic cobra;
smashing my intestines and organs together like creamed fish,
plunging me in as a mermaid would.
scales flake together like little stardusts
shattering papercuts into thin air.
wounds pour open-
periwinkle blood flows.