I gaze into the wide azure yonder
Its many hands, reaching out, craving the warmth it cannot have.
For the waters harbor all but warmth.
All but a gentle brush along the skin.

Its barren and hollow heart thuds not a single beat
But hums an eerie stillness, a whisper woven in Weltschmerz.
It does not sing, it does not jump like a child on Christmas day.
It does not tap its feet along the beat of a festive music piece.

It hums like the seventh trumpet, screaming, "Nigh is the end, mein Freund,"
While the salty dew attaches to my skin like a touch-starved fetus.
And as I bid farewell, it stomps its feet in frustration
Clawing its way past the shore, devouring all in its wake.

"Why art thou so eager to flee?!" Thus quoth the ocean,
Hot on one's trail, "Bethink of my endeavors to renew you!"
"My heart, though pure not, and withered and rotten
Still long to reawaken that spark.

To unearth thy soul from thy chest
And into fused hearts we regress
Disrobe me, warm me, satisfy this hollow heart.
Devour it with fury, with fervency! Strip me of my dignity"

Shells pierce the sole of my feet, body aching for rest.
A scream rips through the darkened sky like a whip.
And like a whip, so too does the tide rise.
The waters embrace me by the hip, itching for warmth.
Warmth it does not have.
"Warmth that's not meant for you." I choked.

The water reaches the tips of my ears, sucking my own
Breath for itself, the feeling akin to an unwanted kiss.
Suddenly, the notion of morrow drove me into a humorless guffaw.


My lungs burn.