There is salt here.
And below this I taste sand.
It's for the living I sleep.
The dead wait for my rest.
To take my overgrown heart.
To peel it's layers.
An exhausting search in grey haste.
Below there are ancient memories cornered.
Scaly stone brushes their face.
The smaller thoughts watch with tight breath.
Some fear death and release themselves.
Bringing death and worse.