Brighton sock wash (or a drunk existential crisis I had in the sea)

Inky black mess

The swell of the waves like 

The swell in my chest

Riding the crest as 

on the precipice 

Of the rest of this I stand


Face forward to a place I don’t know

With my back to a place I called home 

I can’t bear it

I felt a little better 

Cradling that

Blood Mary

I should’ve done this with 

Bare feet 
Soaring seagulls burst like shooting stars

Bright white from the light of the shoreline

Flying into the abyss

Reminding me I wish

I had more time 

Or the capacity to cry

My feet are freezing

But my heart is warm

My lips tremble as the waves crash

On the pebbled shore

My legs are soaking

And I have no idea what to do



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