Distant pre-arranged rumbling.
Clinging to it with deeply set claws,
a soft - salt-scented breeze.
Insulting, Offensive, Demising
... Breakfast ...
Empty bottle at my side,
A crack stretching up it's middle.
Head aches from lack of sleep,
Stars mingle - become one.
... Glare ...
Light errupts from the ocean.
A drowsy facsade
condemned by searing pain.
Reaching for a near-empty packet.
... Release ...
Gasp,
intertwined with a sudden surge.
The demons, once again tainted.
Not long, I'm sure, and they'll be back.
... Peace ...
Head buried.
Not long now.
Apocalpyse dies, falls again to the depths.
Black of night rises.
... Darkness ...
Waves roll aimlessly once more,
stars break the dome of colours.
Wet spray again obtains a comfortable rhythm.
The cycle broken only by winged calls.

-Michael Hampton