His mutters ran out like sand.

This ship is steady
this ship is steady
this ship isn't steady
this ship was never steady.
I cannot tell who is more broken,
this ship or the captain.

I know we're at riptide,
I can feel the pressure of the waves crushing my chest.
The ocean never understood love,
maybe that's why she consumes all that has loved,
all that has felt warmth.

What a delicate heart to meet the sharp tip of anger,
the crushing anguish of fear,
the drowning waters of sorrow,
the restless monsters residing in the skull.

Sunsets are so much more grand once you've known sadness,
reminding you of the halcyon days from every slash of red through every majestic cloud,
melancholy swallows your veins in such a zany manner that you almost saw it coming.
The light bends regally through the gaps of clouds to put a warmth to you,
even if you're sitting alone in the shotgun seat of his truck, waiting for the tank to fill,
even if you're hoping no one in the lot watches as you bury your sobbing eyes into your aching hands,
even if you feel as though you're growing smaller,
and your soul's sinking deeper,
even if you're tired,
even if you cannot bear to utter the sound of the radio,
even if your mind is slipping,
but you still love him,
and you can't tell if you're losing him or yourself,
and it's like you built your mountain on a pivot,
even then
the light will still warm you.