again with the boat.

i feel like i should paint this page,

with the little that's left running through my veins,

at least to see all this isn't simply in my brain,

a simple figment of my imagina,

tion, my words scrawled in crimson would make so much more sense,

to see my heart beat through this page,

until it takes the last of me and i curl up and over,

cold and grey.

because i know i' dat least have said what i need to say,

but i don't have the skills for such a passionate form of verbal communica.

so i stay confined to this pen,

the ink blue like the colour of my drained skin,

if i could use it to translate what's within,

cause the longer i can't, the more the ice gets thin.

i need to just let go.

i need to become captain of my own boat,

sinking ship that it may be,

i can't help but picture it sailed by you and me.

for this i'd move mountains and pull the sky to pieces,

stand before God in tiny little parts like a box of reeses,

just to show Him the little that's left although He's already seen it,

and honestly i don't know if His answer will be that pleasing.

just keep breathing.

you don't need to see yourself bleeding,

to feel alive.