I live in a conch now.
Exoskeletal remains that used to hold life
My walls echo like the sea it used to be steeped in
But is now miles removed
I live in a husk now.
Dry and brittle
Sapped of the moisture of the living
Tinder for some future fire
I live with ghosts now.
They dance as though they never died
Specters in my mind
Deepening the silence
I am the conch.
I am the shell.
Bone dry, ornamental
A souvenir of better times