there are insects tearing holes in our stomachs and
shitting inside us so that our ribs and spines are all
stained black and you can see our skeletons clearly
when we remove our shrouds and come into the sunlight

we shuffle towards the ocean at low tide and bury
each other under sand and stone and seaweed and starfish
when only our eyes are exposed we slice them open with broken
sea shells and a dew of blood forms on rotting crab claws

i was always afraid of the ocean but you
promised me it would be gentle when it cleans our
wounds and carries us out to creatures more worthy

of our pale flesh and like the stars that died for us
we already love what will emerge from the pressure
we already feel crushing us as the tide comes

Moi, j'avais jamais rien dit. Rien

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