Who am I?
Seems a question i should have long since answered
but the complexities of its nature plague the mind like cancer...
prolonging the inevitable choices by peppering my logic with flights of fancy...
dreams I breathe fade into existence like clouds that bleed...
obscuring the obstacles, the marauders...
I dance... look can you see?...
Distorted realities attack my wilted rose and the petals that fall
will ripple through my dark waters to distort the reflections cast down by my bleeding clouds...
pitter pattering droplets pound softly as my dreams drum their life away
and succumb to dark watered tombs and ripple outward
until lost and marooned...
on an isle under my brightest moon...
a secret place...
where desires are encouraged to taste the waters of a forgotten fate
where even darkness roams free and safe from all of your "UNDERstanding"
the ships that you're sailing to carry away my fallen petals
will disappear forever beyond the veil of my limitations to become immortalized within my convictions...
wouldn't it have been easier just to pay attention?
Or can you not afford the price paid in truth?
A self sacrificing altar with the body of virgin youth...
peddling away our innocence for the morsels
dropped by the denizens of the human heart
we invision a lust that can sustain us remake us remove the pain of self inflicted shame cuz...
we are ultimately affraid of... a reflection...
of not having any direction of dying without having survived lifes lessons...
I'm afraid...
and not ashamed to admit it... i've left dreams in the darkness unrequited
but who am I?
I used to be indifferent...
a casual observer in the maelstrom of my evolving imagination
a divination of the reflection of my dimming soul...
but now... who have I become but a martyr?
a shit starter...
screaming at the injustice of a world spiraling down the storm drain of malcontent
with every single last breath spent...
and wasted...
just to repent to the devils shadow and indulge on the tasteless droppings of human waste
as more bullshit fills the shoes and sheets of suit wearing sheep...
haven't we all inadvertently left stains on the white carpets of faith?
aren't we all liars, flip flopping, self serving egotists?
Sadists and Masochists enlisting the fallen excuses of the fallen useless?
Don't they say that truth is... in the eye of the beholder?
aren't we all the molders of reality?
and with truth in our eyes... we are blinded...
constantly searching to rewind our faults to a time when...
we were perfect?
HaHa such a notion is worthless...
yet we continue to chase those feathers into the wind storms of our own creation
and then cry when the wrath of a true God takes our toys away...
but please stay... at least for awhile until I clear my throat from this bile...
become a little more docile with the homicidal...
as the dust settles on blood scratched parchment
I see that I need no pattern no rhyme that rations
my thoughts...
and I don't need a metaphor...
I can paint murder and make it an art form with dry bristles...
because really all the semantics mean little
and everything I have to teach is in the clear steady tones of the proverbial whistle
and the casting of chicken bones along the uneven stones of my path
with unequivocal, unambiguous wrath I take chances on ambitious plans
and reach high...
living up to my full potential and I try...
to reach higher than the devils shadow... and I scream...
while trapped beneath the waves of my dark waters... drowning with a dream...
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