Old things shall pass away.

16 Oct

This sphere is fastly filling
and I find I can’t evolve, I’m not
precisely as adaptable as I used to imagine.
I expected gills, but still
these lungs keep panicked gasping, as if trying
to stockpile oxygen for later.
Now I’m granite, now unshaking,
but I was born a step offbeat.
The time is now for moving, lest I’m covered altogether.
Death by drowning won’t be pardoned
if I’m found to have dismissed
clearly posted danger signs while wearing leaden boots.
My fear-charged eardrums echo heartbeats,
my skin I will to scale. I promise Me
I’ll let Myself be happy.
I expected gills,
and gills I’ll have, if it means
slicing my own side in surgery.

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