Tide

Decay

Autumn has come early and

the tide is leaving once again. The

year is ending and soon

ice will form upon the dead that

lay sleeping underneath the sky.

Seagulls are gnawing on the

fragile remains, picking apart and fighting for

even the smallest morsel as they watch the

people recede back into their homes.

There is a beach not far from this

town and a million cities drowned

by the flames. The sand is metal-like

and remains as, time and time again,

the sea refuses to wash it away and

contaminate its own blue poison.

I sit by myself on a bench, right

beside the blowing gales of the water.

I have no home and my bones have

no place to sleep. There are a

thousand medicines in my hand,

but the decay is constant.