Ever wondered why the arsonist too goes to the shore?
He pulls out his ribs to design a boat,
Knitting them with every plucked string of his heart
But as soon as he leaves the land
They all start to crumble and crumble;
The water is glaucous blue and salty
And it comes from his eyes which burn.
While plunging into it and getting his last straw
He dies and his house tumbles down, burnt.
They find his memories on the floor
Smelling like regrets and cigars.