Dorsal fins cutting through the water
where all the minnows go –
if I were you I’d run for shore
instead of watching dinner and a show.
Instead you flop and flounder
indistinct against the water –
concerned with treading in place
while things are getting so much hotter.
It’s a shame for all them fish,
the ones that got caught far too soon –
they looked so playfully fun once,
now they’re bathed in blood beneath the moon.
To Ink - a blog from Melting Neurons 