Claim Your Clam

To me, it is exactly the lip of a crust
she is hiding in that crevice
wanting not to be found
The yellowing walls rub off on her
infected notion of what the moon is
made up of, cheese
Clinging to the callous edges like a
barnacle on a whales back
she struggles to keep hold
The crashing waves are
rushing through her eyeballs
she is blind
mad as a hatter
and tired of the constant
battle with the muscles of the ocean
waves
They crush her like a small hollow shell
claim your clam