Cimeara (cimeara) wrote,



I am shell-like, sand-worn and pitted,
Silted with the detritus of anaerobic journeys,
Stinking of salt and the last shreds of what used to live inside.
Better to be filled with grit
Than washed out, hollowed, the empty chambers would hold
Only the susurration of my rising and falling fears,
And the echoes of your own.

Tags: writing

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