No Bravery

Gone fishin' in a pool of bloody limbs, With a skipping boat made of salmon's jello, Unable to hold, I've been washed down a chute of ooze. Springing into a mattress of milk-flavored syrup, I like to imagine myself beveraged between fish as I ride the waves. It seems the sea was whipped into foaming bubbles, Like a firefighter's thick chemical shaving cream. Above the tears, I've become so loud and so queery-eyed, Scared of every bothersome creature beneath the Poseidon with a soft drink's lemony-sour taste, Thinking to wash away the flavor before it becomes more of a peephole And to see what to devour quickly in a race. Hoping that the old curmudgeon's pet grass didn't sit out a dance, So I'm able to cycle on land instead of a tidal wave of tears. A fantasy with nice dreams mounded with earth piled around over a capital hill. Sloping down a planet's telex, Signaling for a tore-up sidewalk to add a drain to sink the ocean. A bulletproof monk, I wish I was. Emphasizing a solitary dinner with stab wounds that only get bigger, The more lonely I become. Alone, wishing for loads of land, Grieving tears for the zebra's dress to stop all the world. Before fish get more advanced in chess, I have faith that I will see. They say that there is nothing to fear, No dandruff like cocaine in the sea to inhale and tremor, without a bite from the flesh.