your words.

your words are like the sea. 

sometimes they make me float, 

let me drift away from the shore, 

riding the currents, wavering, tilting 

yet above the surface, 

breathing. 

alive. 

sometimes they support my head, 

caress my face, running their fingers

over the contours of my body

and all i can see, 

all you will show me, 

is the sky. 

sometimes they drown me, 

pulling me underwater, 

snuffing the air out of my lungs, 

suffocating me 

until the deep blues swallow my vision

and i can no longer move, 

merely sinking 

deeper and deeper—

and deeper—

and 

deeper. 

your words are like the sea.