The Kidnapped Prince Of Iceland

Awoken from Iceland,

I sigh.

Fly high,

for breakfast,

before staring,

aimlessly,

at shameless tourists.

Beat up the windows,

Ask me to dance.

I will not dance.

I’m so far away,

and they push pills in me,

and starve me out,

to bring me closer.

I lay still,

where nobody can see,

surrounded by tortured strangers,

that have become family.

I will not dance.

Bottom of the pool,

waiting for Iceland.

I will not dance for you,

in your cheap, chlorine hell.

My body belongs to the sea.

---

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