The surf rolls and
ripples like a centipede’s
cascading legs.

Emotional hubs are kicked
and dredged through
the Atlantic’s merciless brine.

Delivered, near drowned;
damaged minds lie as
detritus on a stony beach.

Thoughts are brittle
shells pulverised
into grains of sand.

Fragments of consciousness
castaway, where Loneliness
is a private beach.