H.M.S. Uncertainty

i dont suppose you've got a cure just yet to make this feeling go away
the panging nausea, the sensation of having lost my way
inside this body i dont know which is bleeding more
the ulcerated stomach or the heart that's ridden with sores
i guess if you look at it from timeline perspective
it's a nicotine whisper on the ocean of things accepted
some expected
but this may be a sickness far too afflictive
a shortness of my breath that might have been addictive
i felt the spikes of heels before
i've washed up on other shores
but i find i miss tides unexpected
time has found i've grown fond of the wreckage
tear my sails down
let this ship become wasteward bound