It strikes, not with a gale,
but with a drizzle of cherry blossoms
and a flurry of gentle chords.

You can’t cry,
when you’re already,
beneath,
the surface.
For fear that,
you might drown,
your mouth stays shut,
there is no scream,
under the ocean.
It’s pointless,
worthless,
to let,
tears fall.
The water,
can’t taste,
more like,
the salt lines,
on your cheeks.
Is it empty,
to be so full,
you’re bursting,
at the seams?
Just a sunken,
ship,
at the,
bottom,
of the,
ocean.