Saltwater Fever and the Art of Ruin

The city was a concrete cage, smelling of exhaust and dead dreams. I left it all behind for this strip of white sand and the crushing weight of your gaze. Here, under a sun that burns like an addiction, my skin feels too tight for my soul.
I lean against this cold wall just to feel something other than the fever you ignite in me. You’re everything I should run from—a beautiful disaster wrapped in silence—yet here I am, dressed in nothing but white lace and a desperate hope that you'll finally break the tension with your touch.
It is a dangerous kind of healing, this slow burn between us. We are two broken things trying to fuse together into something whole, even if it means we shatter completely. The lighthouse behind me warns ships of danger, but I am already shipwrecked in your eyes. Let the world collapse; let the city forget my name. Right now, all that exists is the salt on my lips and the reckless impulse to lose myself entirely in you.

Editor: The Escape Plan