turning tides and sickening waves
it comes in bouts
sea sickness in slow motion
an uncontrollable desire to scratch at my skin

it comes in bouts
the thoughts, the fear, the feeling;
an anchor of uncontrollable palpitations and irrational thought

for some people, home is where the heart is
my heart is a home
it knocks in my chest and one day i am sure it's going to knock itself down

home is where the heart is,
reminders of where my heart is come in bouts
dizziness and exhaustion
brown paper bags and air thick with lack of oxygen...
how close are you to passing ou-

home is where the heart is,
some people have buried their homes within me
and i cannot take care of my own heart - let alone yours
and i keep trying to stop the world from turning so i don't drown in these turning tides and sickening waves so maybe we can spend longer together but these waves come crashing in fast; like my heart beat, like that unforgiving train as it takes you further and further away from me

i have never felt so close and yet so far from you

some people have buried their homes within me
i am more derelict building; abandoned farmhouse; isolated corner shop than i ever could be home

there is graffiti all over my walls and it masks irrational thought with shadowed wisdom and make-believe positivity

i was not built
i was misconstructed;
the site that gets knocked down before the real construction begins

and no one is safe to live within me;
for as homely as my heart may seem, it is overpowered by turning tides and sickening waves.