Blues.

The blues inside my soul ebb and flow as they hit the shore. Some days they are light, and I am still able to make it through the night. But the navy and royal blues blind me to the point where I am unsure of what to do. Self-awareness resides within each fibre, every pore; yet my sorrow remains, guilt, not love, will live here forevermore. The performer in me refuses to quit the show, this facade, although old, is all that I have ever known. Unoccupied and as available as if I've made no plans, the fury at my future grows, why do I refuse to become a man? Every breath that I exhale is filled with endless lies, as I attempt to no avail to conceal the sadness in my melancholy eyes. The notes of youth that once remained became frustrated and then faded. As I fight my many monstrous selves from becoming a joke so jaded. I see the light yet refuse to accept that it may save me; instead I avoid the catalysts that may positively change me. This water is poisoned, murky, dark, and dirty brown. I cannot continue to stay lost when I have already discovered the many ways in which I can be found. Delusion hides amid the corridors of the home that I call life, as I search, beg, then plead for a cure to kill my strife. I am my own worst critic, two thumbs down every single time, although somewhere, someone deep inside me convinces me that I am sublime. My mind, my greatest weapon, keeps me safe, and comforts me. But misery loves company, so my demons prevent my mind and heart from finding a way to be happy. I was once so frigid that my heartbeat froze inside my chest. Since then, I have joined the ranks of the emotional, the eerie rest. The tears, they come, and drown my face with gloom, like a flower full of dreams that was too afraid to bloom. The lost little boy inside me holds tighter to his mother's hand, disregarding the many routes that he knows will lead to his promised land. Beguiled, but bespooked, he treads lightly on new feet before encumbering his confidence and with it, self-relief. Yes, I can prosper, and one day feel the breeze, that exists solely within the summer and dances around my knees. Joy will one day come, sliding down the rays of the sun, and that is when I know that I have finally come full circle, when I know that I am my only one. My aquamarine heart cannot decide to be blue or green. So teal it is, as fresh as the Mediterranean Sea, so pure and thus, pristine. Blue, the colour of the tears that streak my face, the same tears that are as desperate as prisoners in search of a better place. The Blue Mosque and the prayers it holds could not hold a candle to my heart, as my moon grows weaker, and slowly betrays its shooting stars. If variety is the spice of life, why do these blues drown me? The indigo ink that's sealed my fate has taken its toll on me. The spirits that linger around my soul have even shunned the shadow I have become as I beseech the universe and God to, once again, make me emotionally numb. Out of sight, out of mind most say, yet this type of cliche has never been enough to save my rainy days. Waterfalls, tattoo tears are as unpleasant as uninvited guests, as they reveal the person inside that is different from the rest. These thoughts race as fast as Olympians aiming to win gold; rarely consoled, they spiral downwards and suddenly spin out of control. Hopeful, yet hesitant as I unravel and unfold; I know without a doubt I will regain my life that you, and the emptiness within had almost stole.