I can’t inhale the salt anymore,
I’ve become immune to it.
The course crystals on my tongue
might be grains of sand, fragments of places
history has long forgotten.
They’ve found me, and I am alive.
So they are alive.
The faces in the ocean, bloated, pale,
give me envious looks.
I chose to swim away on my own,
they chose to stay.
Refused the fresh air
so they could mingle, lungs full
of false laughter and smoke.
Mine are clean.