For every drop of blood drawn from my back. From his cutting and stabbing and tearing. For every drop he swallows. His eyes darken. He hoped it’d make him sprout wings of woven iron. So he could ride magnetic fields to the crown of the earth and his reign of seclusion. This is his delusion of grandeur. He’d rule over ice and let it melt. Prepare for a flood. And now I hope my blood grows thick forming a webbing between his fingers, a thick film on his skin, and the color green to run through all of his veins. This would be a fair visual warning to anyone who would never trust an amphibian. Never trust them out of water. Always keep their head under. Never take your hand from the back of their head, because their commitment will dry out.