Sand. Loaf of bread. A flat line.
Hair standing at the end.
You co-exist with your life,
shivering. Grains of sand

lost in your head, compulsive
ghosts floating underground.
You're trying to count your pulse. If
it is there to count.

Resting against your stature,
slipping unconsciously
on silver rocks of nature,
falling into the sea,

nowhere to drop an anchor;
walls casting shadows, hands
trying to gasp... no anger
left.
Standing
@ The End.