Preclude

It's molded like we

are. It's the low voices

of late mutterings

and prayers underneath

your sheets and it

chokes like my red

shame. I am spineless,

guilty, and fading

with the murals.

Poseidon's hands tug

on my sea castle and

rip my skin from bone

with the strength of

a thousand horses

I'll never ride. I sink

back into my vices

and wonder why

I can never let go.

Soulless lips press

kisses to the ocean floor,

whisper promises

I can never keep, that

I will exist for eternity.

Wasting away is easy.

I wish the end would

come quicker.