Mermaids die with mortal souls
At least that’s what Hans Christian wrote
And so we’re born with shallow holes
Where hearts should be.
Where nothing sleeps.
And when our bodies turn to froth
And mouths agape sing final notes
We wash away upon the waves
And dwindle to an arctic haze.
A darkness born of quill and ink
To drift to fog upon the sea.
His holy words.
His blasphemy.
His written verse has rendered me
And stolen my infinity.