Kiley, the African Cichlid from Connecticut, will not die.
I’ve tried narcissistic neglect. I’ve tried serving starvation.
I’ve tried habitat demolition. That’s right - - I destroyed her home.
Or maybe you did, when you stopped visiting us on a regular basis.
Regardless of who is to blame, the scum that has accumulated is far
less offensive than your actions (or lack thereof) the past few months.
Yet Kiley doesn’t let this bother her.
I’m pretty certain I know why. She has my drive.
She is determined to fight for the things she believes in,
no matter how broken or confused those dreams may seem.
She pushes through tough times, grasping onto stockpiled love.
It’s sad because that’s all she has at the moment - - rollover
affection.
Yet Kiley doesn’t let this bother her.
I’m pretty certain I know why. She has your brain.
She swims with that same indecision you displayed,
hesitation and fear marking every movement she makes.
She pushes past tough times, overlooking any probable love.
It’s sad because that’s all she has at the moment - - denial of affection.
Yet Kiley doesn’t let this bother her.
I’m pretty certain I know why. She has our problems.
She is an unfortunate product of our bottled up emotions,
a jumbled mess for an ectotherm to accept and comprehend.
She remembers happy times, when all that ever existed was love.
It’s sad because that’s all she has at the moment - - reminiscent affection.
Kiley, the African Cichlid from Connecticut,
is metaphorically dead.
