Lost

Churlish water churns in my private ocean of antipathy. Sunlight maneuvers on the surface of the slate sea, polishing it. From here will come my death, small and terrifying. Somewhere on memory lane, I am riding my unicorn bike with the pink glittery seat. Somewhere, I am eating lemon clover. Somewhere, I am drunk in a dorm room writing poetry my future self will lose, like I’ve lost my name.