Now, Voyager

I’m blessed with a sharp tongue & cursed by the consequence.
My words stripped of actions, masquerading as confidence.
Along came your goodwill & nothing but dry in my mouth,
No sense of coherence in the mess that came spilling out.

I owe you this much.

I’m awkward in my skin, but I’m comfortable in yours.
I’ll stay till I shrink out, & it’s time for your fifteen years.

We were quiet driving, and I was playing you funeral songs.
You argued Hear You Me was too much of an obvious choice.

I owe you this much.

You sat & watched me overcompensate whilst setting off the room in a spin,
Proceed to horrify our company with bile about the rut that I’m in.
So endearingly the crux of all your friends holding onto their youth,
To still be held in such regard when every syllable embarrasses you.
I know that you’re a simple girl and all you want are the simplest things,
And when I’m over being troubled I swear I’ll make my miss a missus.
Until then I’ll be the wreckage you defend when I’m a threat to myself,
And you will never leave your station should I fold & let the water in.

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