do you feel misguided because you’re the one steering the ship?
fog racing on the back of wind, a faulty needle pointing at nothing
and everything all at once.
long rough hair whipping against your skin, sensitized by the cold,
eyeballs watering, sores bleeding, back crimpling, folding like paper.
you hear the voice of someone asking for security
and the first instinct is to push that voice over board.
it would be safer to swim in the unknown ocean than lose yourself on an unnamed ship.
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