Titanic
The air is sharp steel,
as it cuts through my lungs.
It gets stuck in my trachea
and stops the words from getting out.
The words are icicles forming
on the tip of my tongue.
… Just like the Titanic,
I'm destined to
S
I
N
K
as it cuts through my lungs.
It gets stuck in my trachea
and stops the words from getting out.
The words are icicles forming
on the tip of my tongue.
… Just like the Titanic,
I'm destined to
S
I
N
K