By the seaside, I go to every twilight, right as the glimmers of sunlight shimmer away,
and the moon extends her arms out,
and tries to swallow me whole.
The salt; shards of sad tales pouring down my throat
I gulp it down,
all too eager to take her pain away and relieve her suffering.
No one should cry that many tears feeling only salt left over. It burns my throat,
and down my esophagus, it goes,
the grains of salt hug my 3rd and 4th ribs.
Making a home for sadness,
one I am all too familiar with.
As the rhythmic motion of the waves pulls me into a somber state,
He approaches from the corner of my eye
nothing spoken while he sits next to me and gazes
“My heart is a peach, soft and not too strong, push hard enough and it will bruise and break through.
It doesn’t take much pressure at all.”
Why? He murmured.
Why what? I added.
“Why do you drink the sea, wanting the salt to burn your scars when you’re already hurting so?” he asks.
“because it brings a wave of numbness over my mind” “And why do you need that blankness?” he questions. “what blankness?” I reply.
“ Why let your body go numb to the sensations; instead take your wolf’s howl that's buried behind your throat, a voice that your mother gave you and you shoved deep in the caverns of your body.
Constricting your spinal cord to keep it hidden.
Call upon that mordant wolf and when you feel the rumbling,
that is when you let loose and scream into the void,
shaking the trees and pushing the waves so far back the moon is no longer in control.”
“Simple,” I replied,
“because I shot the wolf years ago.”