Of course you’ve been sick. Loose lips sink ships and you, my dear, don’t know how to sail.
The water you spilled from your mouth is drowning your decks, your rigging doesn’t have any strong knots; you must’ve forgotten how to properly sail or that I’ve always known what you’re not.
I learned long ago that you make currents of undertow. You’re sick and you’re drowning but you won’t climb into a life boat. If you can’t call for “help” then you feel like your voice will be lost. So you keep pouring water hoping to hide your sham…you’re twisted but innocent, a terrible sailor and a hollow hearted man.
I’m sad for you and your water logged soul. My heart breaks for you and all of the things you don’t want to know. I’m sorry you can’t breath and choose to be ill and blue, I’m sorry you cry…
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