I wish you could have dealt
with my every gaping fathom;
I was a deep spring,
made deeper by the quaking,
shaking and shifting of old ground
as all labyrinthine beasts
skewed from their rest -
all intent on hell on earth.
You would reinforce me
and I could contain my demons.
But the lacking leads to fallen
chunks of rock and mortar,
meant to seal away the depths.
They've chewed the chains to surface,
and I've begun my sinking;
covered in dead algae and silt
settling at length across me:
I dine on passing bubbles,
observing all the fish.

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