Sometimes
I think of that far away sea
Wishing I was
in the bottom
dead fish and fossils
discarded bodies
resting underneath
moss and algae growing in my sockets
in the darkness of my mouth
But then I wake up
and grab a decaffeinated, salted caramel, oat-milk latte
And forget about the damn brunette
the guitarist with bleeding fingers and tangy stingers
and the darkness of the pit
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