There are wolves at my throat.
I feel my veins throb between their jaws,
I have heard Death's whisper in the
damp breath that caresses my nape.
A grove of shadows has grown and
I keep thinking that if I keep silent and
still they'll release me.
Just don't cry dear, it's unbecoming.
This is not the first time I've tasted saltwater.
When I ask for sunshine,
I always give me rain.
Even though
I have heard that
the worst part about drowning
is how everyone thinks
you're just waving to the shore
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