Wake for me in the morning, when the dreams of your sins are too heavy for me to push off.
By day I am underwater, a muted sloth with mottled thoughts escaping like bubbles. I need
to steal other people’s virtues to survive as my tattoo-tapping feet burn oceans of denial.
By day I am a sleeper, teething nightmares that will keep me spinning like Saturn in the
deep end of the evening. I will swallow my sisters’ sorrows. One way or another I will sink.
Trees of bittersweet jubilee will swarm inside me, relieved and free in the dark. One day,
Sunday will wink at me but until then I’ll sway between seaside and suicide;
one way or another I will sink.