I'll sing songs with fish, cut my hair with crab claws. I'll stretch out on stinging coral beds, my blood bleeding gold. A non human ichor.
The only times I ever truly feel free is when I am singing, or when I am swimming in a cold river with a hard current.
I often wonder if people who drown give themselves up to it. Maybe they just let go, and are pulled into an endless swirling adventure. Or maybe they just fucking drown in abject terror.
The current urges, slurps at my will. It sings to me, calls to me. I know it wants me for I want it. Crushed between the moon and the ocean, I hear the constant call.
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