Strange Fish.

I don't know how to start.
Nah, that's not it.
I don't know how to stop.
These thoughts just come out of my head
like bats escaping a cave, and no matter how I try
to bar the entrance, they escape.
So maybe it's just gotta be said.

I can't bear to see you,
frozen cold and staring,
like the climbers on Everest,
locked forever in time and silence by pain.
I find myself walking down the paths
past the silent memories that line the way,
and pause, thinking “Have I been here before?”
The scent of perfume in the air tells me yes,
and I know I should stop. But I go. Onwards.

Into the dreams, god the dreams.
Standing in a foreign hotel,
trying to make change for a room with an eleven dollar bill.
It all makes no sense,
the man can't make change,
and I realize that no matter how I try, I'll always be the outsider.

Sometimes we're in the ocean,
and I watch you play with the sharks you see as angel fish,
the ones always cruising just outside your perimeter.
They disguise their rancid flesh with bright colours and sugar-armor,
but I'm watching the candy scales dissolve.
You can't see them. I can't say anything.
I'm under water. I'll drown if I speak.

I swim to the surface.
I wait for you with a towel.