There wasn't much left.
Her eyes sunken orbs.
Colours washed out by sun and rain.
Bones brittle form the pulling tide,
The after crash.
The rocks and flash backs.
She is more water then anything else,
More withered good than budding bad.
She has this way of floating, after all these years of drowning.
Her body remembers the push and pull of the waves.
Remembers the feeling of being in open salt water, stinging on wounds.
This now feels like home to her.
It's home to her.
Like Atlantis,
A legend that can not be proven or found.
But she stays as it is the only home she has.
She is more hope than lack of.
More, more please and less of she'll settle.
She won't settle.
Her body has this way of floating.
After years of drowning,
Of being clawed down.
Claws that left marks.
The stinging of salt water on fresh open wounds, now feels like home.
And she is floating closer to land.
But her eyes are shutting.
Breathing less constant, shallow.
She has made a home of herself.
A body of water and salt.
Of tides and waves.
Pulling people under.
Releasing them after.
Like a siren's call they always come back, trying to help.
She has a body made of salt water.
This is what she calls home.
Like Atlantis she has started to sink.
Soon she will be a legend of a girl, one that cannot be proven or found.
