I enjoy long monologues on the beach, the warm grains and broken glass beneath my feet. I can't help, as dazzles of sun, drizzles of spitting ocean make everything unique.
Hold your breath, children. God is angry as the tide rolls in high, and rolls back deep. He beats cloth into drapes and wets the sand. Once dry. Cheeks as cherubs, reddened from cancer spring.
Medieval statues and the moat is free. Emoted servitude as you architect. Hold your breath, children. God is angry again, as father treads water. Splash panic. Too wide-eyed and bushy-tailed to realize the spring Hell. Of summer decline into Autumn's work.
Speak to me in truth and I'll know by tone, I enjoy long monologues on the beach. Eternal sunshine, no spotless minds, as back is beaten by angry tides. Speak to me in ruth-less-ness and I'll know by shone, weather the weather, children. He can't help his maddened drink.
I enjoy long monologues on the beach. Wistful nostalgia too delicate to breathe. Potent as ocean. Tides are circumstances, symptoms bearing no relief. Bury me at the crest. Flotsam and jetsam, sea foam all alone, no pretense. Beat me, daddy. It's okay to hate me. You made me hate me, too.