brine.
Loneliness hangs like lichen,
off of my brittle bones and draped across the rocks.
Crashes like ocean waves,
against the sorrows of my soul.
A brine that intoxicates my well-being.
and justifies the fear of opening up
because brine is like the finest of wines,
making me drunk under the summer sun
but filling my lungs with poison.
Every ounce of salty air I breathe,
hypnotizes me with the idea that loneliness is my only friend,
even on a crowded beach.
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