Tide Apologies

Oceans of words stretch out in front of you;
Liquid forms of expression, fluid movements of conversation.
You can have your pick of sentence structure;
It's up to you alone what your mouth will drink from oceans of words...
And the best you could choose were 'I'm sorry'.

Oceans of words left unsaid, drifting lonely along tides of apologies.
Words more meaningful, words more welcomed,
Words more poetically waxed than tide apologies you continually whisper.

Oceans of them, floating uselessly across the vast sea of your vocabularied brain,
Locked away, memorized by your catatonic state of mind.
Words, millions of them, stacked like stagnant sand at the bottom of the Atlantic
So that all you could come up with was 'I'm sorry'.

Tide apologies turn into tired sorries,
And Madam Sorry is weary of you
As you cart around her name like dead weight;
As though her name is the prerequisite appendage to all your conversations.

'Sorry'.
Oceans of words and this is the one you've chosen to gift to me,
And so this is the one I choose to remember you by.
You are sorry.
A sorry excuse of a person and a sorry excuse for my tears.
Oceans of words and it's my turn to take my pick...

I choose 'goodbye'.