The speaker feels worn down by a life that seems unreal, as though falseness has soaked into the body itself. Illusion doesn't just sit in the mind here; it has "penetrated every pore of skin." The result is exhaustion. The "structure of existence" has been left poor and thin, like a building slowly emptied out from the inside.
The speaker admits they can't shake this feeling. The broken lines and trailing dots mimic that struggle, as if the thought keeps starting and failing to finish. The central image is salt, which is "inseparable" from the blood. Salt can't be picked out of blood, so illusion can't be removed from the self. Then the poem widens to a sea of life "saturated with salt and salt... / And salt..." The repetition makes the word feel heavy and endless, and the final fading line leaves a mood of weariness and resignation, with no hope of escape.