There is an ocean placed in my head
brewing a rolling storm
lightning strikes
and thunder claps
collapsing what I love  
pouring thousands of beads of water
from the sky
battering my body down  like bats

I'm not a sailor
or a can do tailor
I fear what I've done
casted into bottles
built of sand and salt
it's not my fault
I've lost my way again

The compas rose
is no bouquet to navigate
maps tangent
as the needle corrects my distance
I'm definitely not built to be a sailor
I have no plank, no glass, no tie
no brawn is shown here to tether
salt left the tears to cry
over the cracked mast that supports this vessel
with a skeleton that's barely alive

now let alone I'm not no swimmer
I choke on the sound of simple showers
drown in rain two inches deep
brushing against the dew of fields of flowers
ahead of stands that are just too steep

wading through this mess
this diversion
to keep in mind a confession
yet to suppress it's mild *******
thrown precaution to the wind
currently it's my turn
and I'm diving in
towards response
regarding cautionary rejection

vain to vests as a carpe diem
skillfully a hypocrite in order to believe in
holding onto oxygen like it's a religion
one last take in
hold...
it's out
sinking through to penetrate these waves