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  • Writer's pictureKyx

motion sickness

it's been set in motion

like a boat on a tiny ocean

this irreversible concoction

a deadly combination in the cauldron

the waves rise high and low

your wind blows hot and cold

the salt in the air itches my nose

and my bile is hard to control

the ebb and flow of your displays

of affection, so hard to appraise

i’m in a nauseous haze

it clogs my airways

finally, i spot land

i reach out a hand

to grab ahold of that golden sand

solid ground i understand

at last, i stop seeing stars

and i look at you from afar

should you have offered your heart

i may not want any part

it’s too late for all of this

i’m not so angelic

the motions don’t make me sick

but my skin’s not so thick

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