Man in the Mirror.

The sullenly sudden separation between sword and stone were sadly signifying that we were both growing old.  The vibrancy in your eyes has started to grow dull, as your determination, and drive for life have suddenly come to a lull.  I look at you and no longer see the passion that once lived behind your eyes, no longer see the little man who had the biggest plans.  Has life been this bad to you?  To make you lose your will to excel?  Or is it that with each new day, you are miles away from what you came here for anyway and closer to your own personal Hell.  I glance in the mirror and realize that this man is me, yet instead I choose to circumflect, and pretend that he is outside of my own body.  By accepting no fault, the onus becomes anyone else's but my own, taking responsibility for my lack of self-love entails that these sins are not mine to atone.  Blood on my fingers from the crimes I commit, hoping the glove will not fit and that the jury acquits.  Knee deep in my own grime and grit, how much longer will this man allow this to permit?  When will my reflection show who I am inside, instead of revealing the weaknesses and failures from which I have so long attempted to hide?  No concealer or foundation could cover the scars that shroud my heart, only time, the ultimate healer, will allow for me to rise from the ashes and gain a fresh start.  I can no longer accept the man in the mirror that does not reflect the man I am inside, all frustrations aside, I will conquer this Earth, and become a household name, worldwide.

Anew.

These endless tears flow from my eyes and pierce through the paper canvas of my life.  As hard as I try to paint with vibrancy and colour, the blacks and whites overpower my wishes, revealing the sadness that lies dormant, and is undercover.  Every step forward often results in several leaps back, this process repeats until I no longer have the strength to fight back.  Empty vessel heart of mine that overflows and leaves me inept, carelessly reveals the emotions that I have tried so hard to repress.  I know that I am stronger, I have taken beatings worse than this, yet despite the knowledge that I possess the power of Thor, somehow, something remains amiss and leaves me yearning for more.  It consistently pulls me into the darkest abyss, that tears up my insides, and uncovers the memories which I refuse to relive or  reminisce.  I am only human, there is only so much I can take before I am filled with thunder, and the anger within awakes.  It shakes me to my core, causing earthquakes and tremors that roar, but in the end, I am all that I abhor upon coming to the realization that I have become my own rage's repugnant whore.  So what now?  Do I fight the urge within that makes me want to pull each hair out of my head strand by single, sickening strand?  Or do I take a stand, and ensure that I will rise the better man?  I am a king, yet I choose to live like a peasant.  I was born with wings, yet I crawl on the ground with all that is unpleasant.  I refuse, as of right now, to allow this to ensue.  No more bitterness, or blues, no giving in to the remorse or guilt that have the capacity to leave me dazed and confused.  From this very moment, I vow to make the change that I will not engage in the dance of the deranged.  I am strong enough to mend, and once again, promise myself that I will be my very own best friend.  

War.

You infantile, prepubescent, pathetic little child, why do you play at staying calm, when it's clear to observers that your emotions are running wild?  You claim to be the most stunning, although your beauty is hardly even mild.  Give up the act and foolishness, it is starting to become quite tired.  Despised through all the land, you are most similiar to the king who has played his last hand.  Like a genie annoyed with granting wishes, your wishes are no longer my command.  I have given in to your last demands, and see that, now more than ever, you are hardly a man.  Lost little boy with your bag full of lies, open your eyes and realize that you are despised.  Your inability to accept fault is murdering your allies, as you acquired the inability to shock, your failed attempts for attention are no longer a surprise.  Once, you were a prize, now you are a curse, no longer a blessing, but quite the reverse.  Stuck on repeat, your lessons are more similar to mistakes, as they rewind, then replay, it is too late to activate the brakes.  Your engine stalls in those fleeting, hopeful moments in between, but then your eyes lose their light again, and all I can see within is gangrene.  You are rotten to the core, and that is why you are rotting, it is no longer hard to guess what are you up to, or deceitfully plotting.  Unreliable to the end, keep drowning your many sorrows and sins, as you watch helplessly as your friends fall to the ground like bowling pins.  You will surely end up alone crowded in a room full of strangers, and the saddest part is that you are aware yet choose to ignore all of the danger.  Continue to dance blindly, staggering back and forth between farce and delusion, anyone that is fooled by your stupidity has fallen for the illusion.  You project this image of one who is self-assure yet in confidence and secrecy, you admit that you are searching for a cure.  You are a cancerous growth, that I need to cut off, you have filled my lungs with nicotine, and become the black tar that makes me cough.  Avast, adieu, you have poisoned me for the last time, goodbye, I hate you, I have finally rebelled, and put an end to your war crimes.

Stillborn.

Tragic time ticks away and tricks me into thinking that we are almost done, as my memories of us have started to feel more like bullets in my loaded gun.  If you knew you were unhappy, why did you smile like you were having so much fun?  I should have known better than to think that you were ever the one.  Now, you should feel guilty for the way you made me believe, that paradise was just around the corner, as if Eden was something that we could achieve.  I feel so deceived, as I watch you walk away unfazed, looking so relieved.  Lying on the floor with my heart in my hands, I slowly give up, refusing to give in to any of your last demands.  Yet, I still hardly understand, how you failed to be the one to deliver me to my Promised Land. Something has got to give before I end up sad and lonely again, naivety has run its course as you are sadly still my hunger pain.  I am unsure what to do now that my life is barraged with rain, as I wash my hands clean of you, and watch the remnants of us circle the drain. Remorse and sorrow fill the home that we once lived in, much to my dismay and chagrin, I cannot help but allow myself to feel the suffering.  I am not a sore loser, nor a poor sport yet I fail to comprehend how to view this as a win, as I long to rewind time to when loving you never felt like the eighth deadly sin.   I cannot help but wonder if life made you this way or if these flaws were inborn, as I lie naked on the floor, with my heart in my hands, feeling so torn.  You smelled as sweet as the most lovely roses, although you were more similar to their thorns.  As you pricked my finger, and made me bleed, on countless occasions, I now see that our love was stillborn.