My lungs taste of salt-
the vapor of my dedication
paying homage with the bathroom mirror--
the horror you hear.

Cold, crystallizing salt.
So dense I float
in the pools of desperation.
Heavy breaths carrying words of consolation.
Pillars echoing back,
frozen at the sight.

Salt, yes, salt.
preserving hope
like stalagmites in the caves
of hollow hearkening lungs:
"Watch Gomorrah disappear."