If you took a dive from that diving board you would dive into dry porcelain, with rusting paint turing the basin floor from baby blue to dirty cinnamon

This would mix, of course, with your fresh spilled blood, which would turn wine-dark in the evening air

It would be a wholly different experience than landing in the water you were told would be there

Ahh, such a gruesome thing to be imagining
This season makes me cruel

(I have these thoughts in the summertime too)