I was hoping in you I could find some kind of oblivion. Some kind of absolution. Atonement.

What are these things, but lovely illusions. Cinders that float through the night. Cool to ash and smoke before they ever touch the ground. What am I but a ghost? I died long ago, my heart continues to beat. This body Doesnt realize that I long ago gave up the ghost. And what remains haunts the coasts And dreams of a time when it didnt hurt. The places of transition. Where sea and land and sky Are one. The sand that flows beneath my feet. The water that licks my toes. The rocks Oblivion will come soon enough. Why not haunt a little more - why not watch another sunset over the ocean?