Oceans

A pathway of visual beauty turns the chains of her mind.

Such a small block has opened her shell to a pathway of a journey.

A journey she has yet to intake.

Looking around every corner not wanting to be afraid to live life.

She will inhale the adventure and beat down the demons that chase her.

Don't be ashamed to be in love with love.

She will applaud her resistance of it all.

A charter of her own creation; she can triumph.

To not be withered away any longer.

She will indulge the sweetness of her own vision.

I define myself by the different elements of this daily drain I call the "usual".

A place I cherish, a place where I have grown too grotesque for my own skin.

It kidnaps my breath, offering a ransom to possibly let me experience it; what an utter tease.

What an awkward position to me at this very moment.  Offering this warmth to keep me at ease.

I look at it.  This can't possibly be mine- what a strange thing to speak.

I just saw it and described it; this pattern I own.

So smooth as it glides from end to end, and on.

I want everything to be like this.  It holds and contains me while all along I just want it to be done.

From the heart;  love is presumed to be spoken from, sadly a lost location.

What a sin to be placed upon a person's hidden soul of trust.

She dreams in black, a tinted vision of one's morbid definition of existing.

She tries to swallow the dryness that has consumed the inside of her tired eyes, keeping her awake.

Wanting to breath as they slowly shut, this being the only motion that portrays no harm.

All she wants is to drive a stake deep through the thickness of these dreary sensations.

To sweep them away, until another day. 

Pots and Pans

I sit in the middle of this floor- a place I've never embraced before.

Years of disappointment from every person, the feeling of solitude surrounds me.

Quite not sure if I'm okay, who can tell anyway.

Force me up, by the collar if you will, even if I don't have a choice.

I want to run and scream insanity, until my throat burns something fierce.

Quite not sure what stops me, wishing that someone was there. 

A person there to stare.

A Friend...if you call it that.

So uncertain she is, conditioning her pride with the shards of her own words.

So insecure she is, begging for compliance amongst her peers and others.

Trying to be mysterious and strong, but soaking through is blood of weakness.

Out of element, no surprises she brings when admitting her constant jealously.

All she does is fuse to organisms she wants to gain, I pity her self doubt in only one way; understatements.

What does she really want? Praise for the wonder she thinks she displays.

Her revolving sorrow can be resolved by only one thing, her own scene.

M

This whole tiring show is seductively tragic.

A story tale with an ending, yet an empty conclusion.

What a bitter love, one that confuses every thought I have ever had.

It brings me to tears to imagine that this is a constant that I will always try and survive.

I want to explode, to implode all the excitement and doubt that exists inside of me.

To start again with the ninth struggle that I enclose, someday hoping for a satisfying result.

Need is the devil that I actively encourage.

Entertaining all my actions, or lack there of.

We all crave that instant depth, but do everything in our power to swim away.

Existing only long enough to shadow against the walls before you close your eyes.