gone fishing

It’s an inherently selfish thing to be sad. To sit in the bathtub all evening and to light up a cigarette and to willingly fade away.  To run the water too hot just to burn from the outside in. To smoke just to burn from the inside out. To let yourself waste away and to drown. To want yourself to. To pull the plug. To disappear down the drain. To drink just to get drunk. To miss the feeling of it otherwise. To make love to make love. To make love without love. To hate love because of love. To be loved when you can’t love.  

Sometimes I imagine I am a fish. Sometimes I see myself caught on a hook. I see myself slimy-bodied and wide-eyed, speechless and gasping. Just oval Os emitting squelchy air, small movements; snake-like. I see myself- this whole thing- some beast. Something fixed and certain. 

Swallow me whole. 

When I was younger I got a fish bone stuck in my throat. I had to go to a+e and have doctors remove it. I don’t eat fish anymore. These days fish are more plastic than blood anyway. It doesn’t seem like there is much point.