for when the reflection looking back at you through the swamp slime isn't yours, for when the bites on your bare legs aren't from minnows, for when you didn't listen to what the preacher said and you failed to stay safe on the shore.

there are beautiful things at the bottom of the river, and soon you will be there too: wide-eyed and unseeing, lungs filled with the water spilling over your back teeth.

[photo by mira nedyalkova]

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