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.

Island.

The shouts and screams subside leaving me cowering in fear, yet realizing it's impossible to find somewhere safe to hide from my troubles so dear. This darkness within me, pitch black as forty days of night, has robbed me of my senses, as I have lost my will to fight. These walls I have built so strong come crashing down leaving me in the wake of their destruction, I stand in my own way, evoking insecurities within, I am my only obstruction, and the cause of my own suffering. In an instant, the security blankets I weave are pulled away, provoking me to find another with the ability to comfort me like the sun's golden, effervescent rays. I search high, and then low, hoping to find a cure or reason, but instead get tossed aside, time and time again as if I have committed the worst kind of treason. I lived my life wrapped inside a bubble of hope that has just burst, the pain, and agony that seep through make me believe that nothing could be worse. Now silence pierces the solace, and serenity of my reverie, as every friendly face turns away from my sullen misery. Sadness lines my silver clouds threatening to create a hurricane of depression, failing to repress, in turn I cannot make an impression. My dreams were once so big, I sailed amongst the stars, now I gasp for air, as I find myself drifting further into space, and closer to mysterious Mars. I tried to be an island, refused help of any kind, but now I see that I am more of an inlet, dependent on rivers, and the oceans, how was I so blind? My breaking push to start heart refuses to beat, leaving me breathless, and naked, running wildly through the streets. My siren wails like a slaughtered siren's ethereal calls, the monsters that lie dormant silently slither in the shadows, and wait until I am fast asleep to begin their crawl. They ravenously eat my confidence, my sense of self lies broken on the floor, yet somehow I remain confused, and in denial when I wake up the next day, feeling as empty as a biblical whore. Dire, dark, and derelict, my future crashes into the shore, like a tsunami's angry waves, there is not a single place that I feel safe anymore. My heart threatens to let out, exhausted once and for all, my final swan song restlessly waits in the green room, anxiously anticipating for its name to be called. Once the tears dry on their own, I thank God that I have survived. Just another day in the life, yet somehow I managed to see a little piece of beauty, and count my blessings, I have never felt this alive.

Clown.

If imitation is the highest form of flattery, why does your carbon copy of me fill me with rage? Born deficient and inbred, without enough personality to even fill half a page. Your adoration was endearing at first, I wore it like a ribbon, you were the prized pig, until we parted ways, and you continued to assume that you were still as big. I gave you your confidence, yet created a monster in the process, played you like a pawn in a life sized game of Chess. You were pathetic at your best, as you had me fooled to believe that you were different from the rest. Instead, I wish I had seen through your facade, and realized that you were a mistake, and hardly an act of God. Your own mother barely knew whose seed you had sprouted from, with a complete lack of ambition, you were best suited to dwell within the slums like sickening scum. Your rotten teeth were so decayed, your breath reeked of failure, and the foul odour of stale bandaids. The people you assumed were friends laughed at you, and called you names, as they realized with each passing day that you were easily defeated at your own games. It's no wonder why your lovers past betrayed you, and then strayed, as it became so clear to me, that you would implode, then self-destruct like a grenade. Landmines and shrapnel lined the streets that you called home, you are a creature of the gutter, statues made of excrement were the closest that you would ever get to Rome. A clown at your very best, your jaded, jilted jest was hardly a test but more of the catalyst that set me free, and showed me that you were merely the detour that I needed to take, in order to remind myself of how to truly be happy. Jumping from one vine to the next, your demented Tarzan refused to take the time to accomplish anything slightly more complex. Each of your suitors worse than the last, you are a joke that haunts me from the past. Lie to yourself some more, as you continue to commit identity theft, fortunately I know who I am, so I will not be left bereft. I have no reason to seek revenge for your retribution will occur through your next foolish lovers binge. Keep searching the world for the love that you refuse to even give yourself, you are a parody of human life, a mere toddler's toy forgotten high upon a thrift store's shelf. Your own sister refused to give you the respect of being loyal, though she was a total dog; the warts will soon begin to sprout upon your face, as you get left behind amidst the clouds of fog. Return to the circus with your sideshow freaks in your clown cars, you were a small town eight, but in the city, you were never up to par. Rarely the prince, and always the frog, your future already looks so grim; so pucker up, and taste death's kiss, already out too deep when you can hardly swim. Drowning in debt, you deserve it all, keep rolling in the deep, future lovers will surely be smart enough to see that you are just another sickening sheep.

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.