Lonely Ocean

i need one woman who can kiss the lacerations on my back,

and make up for the fascination i lack.

i’m only as scarred as my heart is barred.

and that is gushing, disgusting rivers of arteries,

leading to the ocean, of my oversized heart,

in the ribcage that is uncomfortably three sizes too small.

any one pump could dehydrate my ocean,

letting out all and any emotion that ever, i mean ever

had fed me.

the red sea.

over and over, i die from this so called sacred salt

getting up in the morning, i really hate this part.

a million more deaths, and that makes two million.

they never hurt any less, but tolerance plays a part.

where should i restart?

Copywright- K.O.I.