I don't want to be the same.
I am not above being sorry.
The ocean is vast.
My sip of salt water is slight.
Used to secrets.
Unaware of crooked picture frames.
No one will ever know why.
I am I.
Take me to the heart healer.
Goddamn, I am tired of being a poet.
Too sad and sensitive.
With a burial in my head.
I wouldn't mind.
Being someone else instead.
For a time travel.
For a dirty day.
Oh shit, man.
I don't even care.
I bit the bullet.
Shut the door and rot in hell.
I stand at the entrance of the ocean.
Calling it a better beach.
Finding it a good place to hide.
And I roar back at the horizon.