Cliche beach

Standing upon cliche beach,
With waves of banality
Beating at my feet.
I scribble,
Crimson skies
Rising over sparkling seas,
I rip I tear,
Fumbling grumbling,
I kick into touch.
English is great language,
For selling chickenshit to strangers.
But not for elusive phantoms.
Who lurk beneath,
The fallacy of daily ritual .
I have no crown of thorns,
No existential pain,
Only words crawling in my brain.
Who fail to congeal to any useful being.