Shipwreck.

Sardonic scars severely surround my seven seas, as critical razorblade kisses caress my sunkissed knees. I can play at happy, plaster a smile upon my frowning face, and pretend that it is all okay. But pretenses never get me far, nor will they create rainbows in my skies that are coloured in greys. Daunting death daringly beckons me asking me to come out and play, yet I refuse to give up, or give in, as I grow stronger with each new dreamfilled day. I disassociate myself from the mundane, and toxic strangers who were once so close, as my friendly future fondly promises that it will never fail to keep me engrossed. Your hatred, once my lullaby, no longer translates into words, as your soul is restless now, without control over me, your heart flutters, and flaps inside you like the clipped wings of a caged bird. All the ups, and downs, and highs, and lows, have poisoned my poetic prose, like coratid kisses from a cancerous, and thorny rose. For every lie you tell, the worse your karma grows, like a new age Pinocchio, you will not realize it until blood pours from your nose. Each and every orifice will burn, burst, and then explode, until the screams within you reach fever pitch, and your skin begins to itch, and then corrode. The acid inside you will surface then pop, burning you from the inside out, as the ghosts of Christmas future will beg, and shout, praying for salvation from the endless doubts. Your erstwhile rainforests are now barren and bare, burned to the ground, as mother nature worryingly wails in dire despair; you have killed mother Earth, and defiled her worth, with your lackadaisical legacy, and self-righteous rebirth. Your ego's army would fight the most foolish wars, rape and pillage the poor, then make its women and children your whores. You assume to be worthy of every kingdom under the sun, but assumption is a fool's trait, and you are contestant number one. My journey will lead me to the highest mountains, and the furthest lands, I will paint the world with wonder, every goal will be attainable, and every wish, my command. You are still trapped in your magic lamp, your confidence is damp, as you are as cheap, and common as recession era food stamps. In the end, you will see that lady luck has tricked you, and left you behind, in a trail full of scattered misery. Your pitiful pride, and sense of entitlement will be inscribed upon your tombstone once your inabiity to accept responsibility becomes the reason that you have died. I observe you from the sidelines as your train derails, creating chaos and mass confusion like the beseeching cries of bellowing beached whales. If only you had listened to your conscience, perhaps you would not have been dispensed. Not a single survivor save for me managed to escape from your shipwreck. it is time to wake up or get left behind, this is your final reality check.