We have accepted this fate. Of a siren, a sailor, and a future doomsday. Our love has weathered through rocks during storms, sea drenched monsters that often take our very own form.
We batter on knowing the seas won’t part, knowing this is volitle, and that this love has changed so much from the start.
Your blue lips prove you can’t navigate your ships. My fickle heart can’t make us float; neither one of us should steer this boat.
Clutch on to the broken boards that lap in the waves. I can swim through the black, this is where sirens best stay. We’ll keep ebbing in the tides and we don’t need to speak the whys.
You need a song to hold on to, to swallow like it’s your last bit of hope. I need a sailor to play with while treading in the undertow.