The Rivers To The Ocean.

I move like the ocean, vast seas of depth,
Raging waves of a violent suffocating mass.
I take my time rolling into shore some days,
When I'm warm and at ease,
No murderers intent.
But these recent weeks, I'm sick, and bitter.
I slam the boys away, roar over the splinters
And the politics of gravity.
I devour it more and more with my stomach in knots,
And I wish the sun never shines on me again.
But silently, I am recoiling out to a monster.
I am just waters, cold in these months, taking lives.
I have remorse in my taste, a sour sting in your wounds.
It is okay. I am just the ocean. No one lives in me.