The Death of Sand

When I walk along the beach I stare at a perpetually blue sky that does not cry, it only blinds with reflective glory upon the granules beneath my feet.

I dig my toes into the sand in angered desperation and shed tears for the blue above me and the brown below me.

It is a life of contrast with bodies caught in its cruel center hopelessly yearning to blend.

I gouge out a hole in the flesh of the sea that the tide has left behind and hope for lightning.

I dream of an ethereal death for the crystals that silently fill my lungs and consume my soul.

I want to create a glass landscape as frail and muted as the heart that's housed within me.