Rust.

All we can do is dream,
keep chasing after silver streams—
dollar signs flash as we speed by.
The only certainty is that we die.

Distorted reality blurs meaning,
tragedies occur without reason.
Hope waivers, careening,
The truth is rarely appeasing.

Tempered glass shatters;
the shards on the floor look like diamonds.
Survival is all that matters,
when my head hides wailing sirens.

One day, my sun refused to rise,
broken down from shining over lies.
Nightfall never left my side,
no visibility in a charcoal sky.

Though I braved storms
earthquakes, and landslides,
suddenly the feather wind
even bruised my pride.

What do you tell two tired feet,
or hands wrinkled from wringing?
Not even paradise itself could
stop my shuttered eyes from stinging.

When faith runs out,
carrying on seems pointless.
Sometimes success even
prefers avoidance.

That is when I start to sink.
I melt like wax on the parquet flooring.
Scrutinize every crack then
accost myself for ignoring it.

I become a magnet for suffering,
repelled by my own self-detriment.
Copper, as I blush then rust.
Seizing up, I crumble to dust.

Division.

All you knew were fairy tales,
you were no stranger to luxury.
You grew up in a good neighbourhood,
came from a respectable family.

Here I was, this broken doll,
from the wrong side of the tracks.
Spent my childhood in bars,
drinking cheap whiskey and Jack.

It was clear as day for all to see,
that we were not equally yoked.
Despite our many differences,
we still laughed at the same jokes.

You took a chance on me,
and ventured outside of your comfort zone.
I came from rags, you made me feel rich.
Our love was my million dollar home.

Eventually, we ran out of time,
just like they said we would.
All things come to an end,
especially when they are good.

I wiped a single tear away,
snuffed out our candle's flame.
Now, it's been several years,
but somehow my lips still taste your name.

Bulletproof.

Incorrigible landscape,
that cannot be recreated.
There is no copy and paste here.
Ticking underneath my ribcage,
a sleeping dragon awakens.
Beating to the rhythm of birdsongs,
one misstep could collapse a civilization.
A glance mistaken capable
of crashing stock markets.
Your guess as good as mine
what could make it plummet.
Sending shockwaves through nations,
like a sonic boom.
Tremors that create rifts in the Earth,
like natural disasters.
Corrugated cardboard heart of mine,
often recycled,
occasionally left behind.
One wrong move and limbs go flying,
splattering the air,
like the paint of possessed artists.
A twisted scientist,
he is a tortured genius.
His every project,
government green-lit.
Imagine such power,
the kind to be marvelled.
With enough force to
crumble mountains;
one snap of his fingers
and the world is reduced to shrapnel.
Dust clouds the sky reducing vision.
There is no clarity here,
it vanished like a magician.
Sometimes he is the court jester,
others, the king.
One misinterpretation is all that is needed
to result in widespread suffering.
So, be quiet and still.
Proceed with caution,
treading on egg shells,
so he remains sleeping.
While he is dreaming,
there will be peace in the district;
no chaos in these streets,
tonight.

Funhouse.

Whirling in circles, 
thoughts race through my mind 
like I'm stuck in the spin cycle.
I thought I knew better,
believed I had learned from this.

Yet here I am again turning, 
and twisting my words, 
might as well take a book
and hollow out its pages–
rendering them useless.

Why do I do this.
Repeatedly committing to
this insanity that robs me of peace.
Mea culpa, why does it have to be.
It steals my slumber and my dreams.

Everything is charcoal filtered;
it stings like lemon juice in fresh splinters.
Scars on my face, bruises on my knees.
Papercuts on my fingertips,
that you drown in overproof whiskeys. 

I hear a fizzing before 
everything fades to black. 
I regain consciousness 
swimming in the blues.
Is this the brand new me?

Or a recycled, carbon copy? 
An upgraded version or just 
a software update for free.
A never before seen silhouette 
or the same old ghost I used to be.

I just can't keep up, 
with racing against the clock
like it means anything anyway.
Progress will not be forced,
it cannot be reproduced.

All the plastic in the ocean,
and I'm still more artificial.
Will this old, rust coloured 
bicycle chain wear away 
so it finally can be replaced?

Because I swear I keep changing gears 
and still end up getting nowhere.
These wings on my back are just for show.
The horns inside my head continue to grow.
I chased the monsters out from under my bed.

I'm the one who cleared all the cobwebs.
Buried the skeletons in my closet.
But my demons remain, regardless.
They refuse to fade away.
These ghouls delight in my downfalls.

Applauding every single time I fail.
Snickering sheepishly, bearing the sharpest teeth 
from their seats in the audience, 
they take pleasure in watching me 
tumble away from the best of me.

I land face-first in what's left of me.
Beads of sweat dance on my forehead,
I stop to catch all my lost breaths.
The room becomes a merry go round,
that's been hijacked by a bloodthirsty clown. 

Vertigo takes control of me,
I collapse from anxiety.
Stuck in this funhouse maze,
my own distorted reflection 
stares back at me in judgement.

White gloves reach through the walls
pulling me in every direction.
Suddenly put on trial for these patterns
then insulted for my imperfections. 
I've yet to learn my lesson.

I gave my future the kiss of death.
through my own stagnation.
Through bated breath, 
I accepted eternal damnation.
I still yearn to learn my lessons.