WHERE THE WAVES STILL CRASH

The frustration of walking upon this path
we set so carefully up,
 of tiny sticks and string
for the longest minute I have ever felt,
is unbearable to Bare.
Like Baring the harsh cold ocean
 or the tundra
where life does not see for miles;
 I am dragged.
Where the occupiance of life
is the same as the traveler.
My knees shake and my hands bleed,
as my mind wanders -
 frozen steel of my LUNGs
send shivers over my skin
as they touch when I stray.
alive at last
the mendacity of existence
Propaganda like the hope I build,
like our statues or our path
IT TASTES SO FUCKING DISGUSTING,
like sand in my lungs
 or salt in my eyes,
Without relief or any sign of help in this barren fucking sea.
IT TASTES SO FUCKING DISGUSTING,
and it is here,
where the rain still falls, where the sun still soaks,
the sharks still swim, the waves still crash,
 the air still stains your lungs;