Your Shore; tide is breaking upon your shore

Recede!
Heed these signs, says the starfish.
Halt! Salty sandy nighttime adventurous ones.
Heed! Turn back with your cinnamon-sugar doughnut legs!
Sticky sweet with the belief in magical gypsy love.
Spanning time, age, experience, poetry, love, defeat, love again.
LEAVE ME, AND TAKE ME I CRY!!!
Silly thing, thing thing.
Singing, thing.
Stinging, thing.
Craving, depraved and craving, lucid.
Really feeling normal.
Normal as in real. Really normal (meaning really honest).
I am spinning,
dreaming of a day.
Dreaming of letting go of ideas such as lies...linen woven lies printed with faces of our forefathers.
Faces exploited, cloth undressing some of the people most of the time,
dressing the unworthy in robes of ego and material things,
leaving me feeling heavy and vicitmized.
Freedom is like the starfish,
growing with the flow,
dying with the tide.