Salt - A poem

It divides itself in two, I think it's aware of the depravity of its actions and desires. Maybe this too because of simple observation on reaction. Or because of the dull facade it has to plaster over fickle skin. Sliding fingers, and a clenched jaw where once there were tears and mottled flesh in the throat, where thick saliva used to coat it in thick layers. Where now the flesh is hollow and seeping, sweat instead of tears, nothing changed, just an alternate source of salt.