Sea foam, like erupting clouds… As if the sky had fallen. Beer bottle aimed down my throat, you are a speckle that seldom dances behind my eyelids. I don’t even mind the coarse sand against my shin, between my inadequate thighs. Salt. I like the salt, even if it is too sharp a taste, too difficult to wash out of my hair. And I’ve stopped fighting the sound of your berating. Yes I am all of the above. What now?
Serenity: It lies somewhere between realising that some messes don’t need to be fixed and knowing that you can coexist with chaos- because it will follow you until you silence it with a knowing look.