Fishing

You have the silver hook.

You have the thin line.

You take a swift look.

You're ready.

 

I was full of life.

I swam to my own beat,

Until you came with a knife

And a bucket.

 

You're not entitled.

Your pale is not gilded,

And if it were, you would not sidle

Along the pier.

You'd be seated.

 

It appears as though

I am stranded.

My fins form a bow

As you pierce my lip.

How could I not be enticed?

Your gentle eyes are liars.

They used to be my vice

As we bonded

Through stares.

 

And now--now we pretend.

We pretend as if

This game never ends--

This game of strings and hooks.

 

I can't breathe.

You're pulling me too fast.

You're weaving

The line through liquid.

I can't possibly keep up,

So, it ends.