Do I find comfort
In your words
Or your voice?

Maybe we're all just waiting
for the train to come into the station
for the paint to dry
for a rainfall in the desert
for him to make the first move
for tomorrow
but
sometimes the train is late
the paint gets smudged
the heat dries up every drop in the sky
he's too scared
and tomorrow never comes

Jumped into lava
Still not as warm
As your touch

I am not afraid of the darkness
but the shadows that hide within it.
I am not afraid of silence,
but the sounds that eventually break it.

like an ocean,
you appear to be warm
because you reflect
the sun's light
but truly
you're so cold

like an ocean,
I can't be quite sure
of your depth
until I have dove in
and sunk
to the bottom

through words,
I heal my wounds
by completely exposing them