Fleeing

What is the point of fleeing this ship?

I can take someone’s joy and live with it,

So, tell me –

What is the point of escaping?

Seven wounds on my back,

Seven battles in the making.

I heave from the weight put on my shoulders.

I keep breaking backs,

Keep growing bolder.

What is the point of going home?

My palms try to grip the dying foam,

And I know these moments must be fleeting.

So, honey, what is the point of fleeing?

-Jackie