They plucked us from turbulent waters,
and took us to their homes on pristine shores,
where the sun sets bloody,
and their hands even bloodier.

They stripped us of our tails and gave us wings instead.
They forced us in to the sky,
so they could curse us from the ground.

And how a crowd gathers under the death of a star to watch it glitter across the black night,
they watch us fall.

But comets are comets,
and the destruction of a person is never as beautiful.

Our feathers burn,
one by one,
and our corpses fall back into the foaming jaws that were far kinder than their mouths ever were.

We sink into briny depths and let the salt fester in our wounds.
We let the crashing of waves above our heads replace the weakened beating of our bruised hearts.
We let the cold water turn to ice in our veins.

Our broken screams from the sky are transformed into lullabies.
We learn to soothe ourselves in hostility.
We learn to sing with teeth sharpened on shipwrecks and jagged reefs.

And when you come for us again,
with your honeyed words and bloody hands,
we will teach you:

You should have left us to the sea.