Tuesday, January 16, 2024

not always this kind

as the fish, 
loses consciousness,
drowning
in air,
pulled from the sea,
tricked
into biting
what isn't bait
but a scam of sorts.,
arranged by me.
i feel bad for it.
can i be one
to kill something so
beautiful
and free,
a rainbow
of nature,
something so innocent,
just minding its
own business, swimming
around
merrily?
is that me?
with knife in hand,
butter already
melting in the pan.
seasoning
set aside,
ready
to filet its life away?
no, apparently not,
not this time,
but i'm not always this kind.

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