There used to be days
where the sea met my toes
and my hair would tangle
and salt would stick to my skin.
I would lie down along the midnight shores
and listen to the echoes of madness.

The darkness
would swallow me up,
its soft, feathery insides.
I remember tears,
my throat closing in,
silent, static.

Cold air would seep into my bones.
Wet, distant, lonely.
A permanent malignity sifting
through the chaos of my mind.