I’m not sure what these sands and ashes mean to me any more.  I’m not sure if this desiccated, blazing beach is my home, or merely a fantasy of ruin. This feels more like a besieged bastion, devoured by fire, than a safe harbour.  I’m clinging to blight, wishing for and spurning salvation. I think I fear the lulls of silence as much as the deafening tumult of war.  It’s just that….I’m not sure I can survive out at sea.  I’m not sure I would be rescued, if I were to drown.  Would anyone be there to wrest me from the depths?  Would I want there to be?  I think everyone on the shore has already forgotten me.  I think I’ve been lost at sea for so long, though I am moored upon this coastline.  I don’t think I’m worthy of deliverance.

I don’t think the darkness bound in the abyss of this ocean is any different to the light which scorches the shore.  I can barely tell the sky from the shoreline.  I’m not sure I can depart from that which forsook me long ago.  I think these delusions are my reality.