Lake monsters. (poetry, otherkin, surreal)

River-travellers. Amphibious, blurry creatures, half-submerged, half above.

Swim with a crown of algae, a passenger upon your scales. How does that feel? Dive through the murky water, hunt your prey. How does that feel? How does that feel?

They always ask me how it feels,

and I want to say,

it doesn't.

The only thing I feel is

the need to get away,

dive into

Slipstreams of water, muddy, joyous, gushing torrents of froom and froth. Crocodile-coloured stone, slippery with moss and lichen. I drink from the awful river and I survive; Lord Sobek blesses me. Infinite, I drink from the river, I drink from the river, I drink until I am the river in all its totality--

--and then I spit it back out, because I do not very much like Ownership, but I do like having a River outside of me where I may swim.

and that's it, folks. that's the joke. woke, broke, you all know it, devoid of hope

but looking into hidden space

discovering forbidden space

unbidden space

is a journey

we cannot own.

we can only take it,

and marvel in it.

and for that we must separate