I am apiece of drift wood.
The salt ravaged me like some evil being that drilled me with holes and tossed me around as I drowned in darkness with no voice.
I awake barely alive, burning like the inside of the sun as the ocean gently rocks me onto the sand
Where I die of thirst.
You come along one cloudy day, kicking the sand when you see my crooked mummified hand barely poking beneath earth.
You carry back to your den and shake the sand between the rigid cracks of my skin and display me as a center piece.
At first I am content with the hard wooden floors and cool atmosphere and the care you give me.
But I'm half dead and the feel and smell of soil is a haunted memory of my former life before the water took me.
You eventually leave.
After many months I become brittle and upon your return your new dog pounces and chews on me...I fall apart.
My new home becomes your trash can where I rot in peace till another takes me along with all your garbage.
I am beheaded by a tumbling stove at the dump.
It's early and I've been cleaning house when I remembered we had a piece of drift wood from when I lived near the beach.
I remember we had it sitting in our den for quite some time until we moved again and then it was a centerpiece for the porch.
Very soon it became a hive for some awful bunch of bees and we threw it away during winter.
I kind of miss it.