Book Drowning

The water is boiling
But can your dead flesh feel the heat?
Steam rises like hopes
Before sticking to the glass
You don’t notice
My little Ophelia
As your head rocks underwater
Naked body floating sickly

Couldn’t you stand the pain?
Newly crowned Lady of the Lake
Curled up like a foetus
Your womb made of plastic
Or some other synthetic product
Your heart burned as your read those words
How peculiar
Killed by a book
Tell that to the coroner
With those drenched pruned lips

The water is boiling, my young one
Scalding your wrinkled skin
Prematurely aged
By water submersion
Prematurely killed
For listening to pages too intently