I’ve blindly delved within my own underwater caverns
To pick between tendrils of algae and upturn chunks of coral
In search of a sunken flake of gold
Some hungry fish thought was a glow worm.
But the fish grew from that flake, when it should have died,
And turned into a black kraken,
Gushing ink like an oil spill,
And now it bleeds from fresh cracks in my scalp,
Dying my hair dead in clumps for everyone to see
That I don’t know.
And so I ask questions.
But no one receives mail if it is not addressed.
Letters of the utmost importance, without a home
Sometimes find their sentimental words in the wrong hands.
Tight eyes become greedy, illegal weapons,
And answers are properly explained fallaciously,
To wash away the questions of the world,
And believe on the question’s existence.
Which kills the golden flake I never rediscovered,
The caverns made to hide it.
The fish that never existed.
The black kraken never blotched my mind,
Which seals and cleans my head of a reason to question.
Which means it’s not okay to question things.