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bottom of the ocean;

there's a reason why the door is always locked. there's a reason why the water is boiling. i don't want the waves in my gut to flood these streets, cause you never know but, under the lid, the tides are mine only, with a path to follow. a very suffocating path but, still, they are only mine to feel. 

you offer your soul to the world but will you live up to where it goes to?

will you draw it the same way it flows? can you mimic its voice, the murmur, the chant you hear deep at night when the moon is high and the waves feel more restless than usual?

when i'm about to close my eyes, it all comes down to this, and i guess there's a reason why the bottom of the ocean is so distant, so far away from here.

it won't live up to where my words float.

pretty silence