NaPoWriMo #22: Hungry and Unkind

You imagined yourself breathing
underwater.  You could see the sky
through a distorted mirror.  Clouds
melted over you face, and the sun
was one big ray battering your eyes.
You could've paid attention to fish
swimming around you.  To the feel
of their fins on your skin, the tickling
of their gills.  Something hungry
and unkind could arrive to swallow
you whole.  To make believe you're
a seal or penguin.  Or the small boat
of a fishermen who don't know
what's beneath them, thinking the big
one is something they'll eat, not be
eaten by.  You wear your own skull
comfortably.   You understand it
carries your brain, but why can't it be
immaterial, spirit immune to dangers
of the flesh?  You feel that you're really
a ghost, submerged in cells, the body
a form of chains tying you to the world.
You will haunt someone when you
pass away.  Their breath will try to blow
you out, but you will be a wildfire.
Whole houses shall ignite instantly.
Neighborhoods shall drink from fire
hoses, but that won't slake their thirst.