Resuscitate.

Jupiter knew I could never leave the sea. Jupiter knew that I would be desperately missing something. It knew the salt was never something I could stay away from…that I would always swallow and regurgitate them.

But sirens and dead men float alike; eyes hollowed, faces bloated from steely seas. It doesn’t really matter if I’m a dead man or a zombie.

Jupiter shines bright in this house. I shove it in my mouth like sick men drink their whiskey. Every last drop, barely tasted, trying to ignite the embers inside me. 

Stoke the wet coal. Try to stir a dead man. Jupiter knows my insides are fraying. Rotting. Shine brightly to bring hazy eyes back to the sky. Flicker to shock my brain. 

I feel like a zombie trying to taste the flesh again; but instead I’m left with screams as I go insane. 

Jupiter is trying… But I don’t think it kept these insides from dying.

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