The crickets chirp and the man with no ring cannot sing. 
While the night swimmer has a place to suffocate
The woman without a beer sits down to think. 
Inside that door upstairs
Lies the couple with a thirst for the conventional
And across the hall
Is the room that has been locked for a week. 
They both share a flickering night lamp
And a withered plastic plant
With roots growing from beneath the hollow cloth.

I left the stuffy room, drawn towards the rising tide.
With each step along the beach 
My feet rippled across the sand. 
Indented by the indifference that had become a connector. 
The soft waves slid up,
Gently washing over my toes. 
Like a silky yet frigid hand
Running her suggestive finger along my moist leg. 
She would try and seduce me.
Slowly and subtly numbing my body
By leading me farther beneath the midnight blue 
With her unique and diminishing sting.

As I gave in to the backpedaling drop, 
I fell prey to the oceans blade.
Suddenly she changed her grip, 
Tossing me forward and into the sandy brimstone;
An agnostics perdition. 

As I returned I met the man with the ability to secure. 
He said "Nothing is broken."
Yet I was able to see the scattered pieces. 
And I whispered, "but nobody will listen."