On Working at a Pet Store

(05/07/22)

i never understood

the horror of dead fish eyes,

until i picked their dead bodies

like petals off a flower,

from machines surrounded by

their brethren

they never learned to avoid.

the black bag void and permanent smell

gag me into silence.

holding the bag of mourning they will

never know or understand.

reminds me of our meaningless to

those around me.

the death of their simplicity haunts me.

simplicity sickens me

and keeps me alive,

for i fear to end

falling into a trap i've seen before,

with nothing to my name

and nothing in my eyes.