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 for help because you just don’t know what else to do.
Your voice is only lost in the storms you make. You’re afraid if you give, then someone else can take. We both know you will always choose to drown because it is easier than having to learn to swim. I’m so sorry for your heart and the hurricane you’ve created and let in.