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Sandhead MAG
I tried to pull my head out
from the sand
but my brains had eroded away,
mixed with crab carcasses and
dried-out seaweed.
I watch the waves foam
like rabid rottweilers,
gouging their paws into the shore and
I wish they would carve the words
lodged in the back of my throat
across the beach, but I know
it's up to me to dive the depths
and find the words
nestled in some oyster shell,
just waiting to be said.
but all I do is think about it
with my withered-away skull.
when I make a move to do,
I crawl back in my shell
and into the sand.
wither away some more.
pretend you're not real.
that the words aren't real.
soon I'll be a sandman.
maybe a sand castle
and the waves can wash me away.
at least then there'd be
nowhere to hide.
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