Cold flesh sifting my bones like sand, letting go of the only promise it had in warmth, now long gone before it could ever complain.

My lungs no longer ache from the piercing pain of a breath, my hands no longer hurt to hold still whatever they could.

Pain is pointless for a corpse, and so is time.

I miss the day when I counted seconds. Now, I feel it still, even when it's running through my fingers.

It is indeed pointless. Much as the tiniest mouth devouring bit by bit the feet that once skidded.

How long until the crab devours me whole?

A day? A week? A month?

Nothing is certain in the deepest of the ocean, nor in the dancing shore. Water might consume me, or wash me ashore.

Regardless of my future, one thing was true from the moment of my first breath to the second when it finally left me:

No one will come.

Because no one ever had.