The Swimmer's Ear Mark

You once told me to sink or swim but I never knew I had a choice,
at least not with you,
you were a projector of sorts,
never willing to admit your own willingness to drown

You once dragged my drunken soul out and about,
pulled me by the collar of my dress into the middle of a field I had always been afraid of,

and once we were standing out there,
well you were standing over me,

and once we were stopped out there,
under the light of a crescent Moon,
I spat on your shoes,

You asked me if I had made my mind up about the swimming,
so I reminded you about the draught in this field,

water was in our imaginations,
you said,

but you had been dead for some time now,
and I had been dead to you for even longer,

so I held my breath good and tight,
and I let the grains ride up the side of my leg while you forced yourself on me,

and when I was good and ready,
I bludgeoned you to a bloody, waxy pulp,

and there was nothing tragic about this,
because I took my bad hand,
and made it a good one,
and then I ran toward the Fata Morgana,

and away from you