Ninety per cent.

Maybe we drown.
Maybe we live.
Our lives are always underwater.
When every envelope is meant to be pushed. Punished.
You’re wearing your green dress now,
Inviting me in…
Keeping me safe. Swallowing me whole.
It’s after three and I can see
this is the beginning
of the end
of broken heart syndrome.
Maybe we drown.
Maybe we live.
Walking around, 90% water.

M.

Tagged with: