Nothing's As Dead As A Fish

There is a dead fish somewhere, Rotting deep inside of me. The smell is visceral, though invisible; It stinks of abandoned dreams, Rots with unfulfilled ambitions. It's dredged up again With every unhappy circumstance: Float, fish, through unquarried hopes, Carrion of your eggs, your staring eyes, You fins shriveled and stuck to the body. Once you almost flew in water, but now you sink stone-like. Once I sank in air, after I was abandoned Too far from the riverbank. Now I stink like a day old fish Found around the frying pan, Where there is only more fire, And a flaying knife, to lay me open To the world's inquisitive stares- Even if they pretend not to smell it.