I am so desperate for a change
Even for the worse,
Which is actually good if you know how to count your way
Up the ladder.
Tongues must be sharp-stabbing and clean-licking
Whichever side you're on.
Or so they say;
Their heavy voices smooth like polished ivory
Sinking my less-than-cocksure voice further down
Deep inside my belly.
It grows weak but unforgiving,
Whirling around my body like a spirit clasped inside a glass bottle
It's no less than a seastorm
I am no less than a sailor who lost his land a lifetime ago.