How this story ends depends on a question with all and no mystery. Send me back into a spiral whirled by my own hands. Tongue-tied, legs locked tight, a heart that fits a little too right — I’m dancing with a frown even though it’s already my best smile. Are there any more disasters that this decaying marionette has to understand?
I’m lost for words as I burn this dictionary of every lesson I’ve learned and taught to no end. Threads of red, black, and yellow sew my mouth shut, daring me to scream. This distraught volume only tells stories of the truth framed in fiction — a nightly drink with obscene blends. Am I ready to bleed oceans once I tear these seams?
Death calls too often, and I’ve always replied with missed calls. I wish to decide for myself when and how I die. Let me count these little empty days with strikes on my walls. Can I accept this once-too-many-a-lifetime chance?
Navigators sail beyond the horizon, hoping not to fall off the earth. I am but another lost boy clinging to driftwood, begging to the stars at night I don’t drown. It’s funny how I promised to never beg for life in the name of my own worth. Do I want to hear the cacophony that echoes brutally beautiful sounds?
I’ve lived beyond what I can manage, and I somehow still can’t see myself living beyond my days. It’s difficult to gamble for happiness with every failed wager, yet I roll these dice for one good six. I still wonder how I managed to make it this far, no matter how much I recall my ways. Have I really solved everything I need to fix?
I’m tired of being alive, despite all these beautiful blessings I’ve always been counting under my breath. It should be enough that I am content, yet I seek what’s greater than my own little life. At the end of these lovely days, I still wonder what it means to be dead. Are there any dreams left I’ve yet to chase?
I am afraid that question marks are louder than letters, and doubt is louder than action. I’m uncomfortable with how I keep looking for unwanted answers. Ignorance is tragically bliss, and I happen to carry wisdom built from sorrow. Am I bound to all these unfinished chapters?
I suppose I cry ebony tears that weigh heavier than diamonds. An unlikely yet hereditary tradition written as a medical condition. There are salt crystals frying these seemingly old yet unfortunately new wounds, cauterizing them like eyelids asleep — was I working towards my own redemptions?
I do not doubt that I have problems I can never utter. These are issues from seconds burnt to sand, ones that aren’t worth the innocent bother. These visions of tomorrow paint themselves in colors I could never render. Am I hopelessly standing on happiness I can no longer remember?
Thusly, I am back in the blackest seas of my mind. Hands clinging onto rotting driftwood, I swim against the current that wants to devour me dead or alive. Eyes blinded by too many stars, I listen to the sound of collapse and repair that plays on rewind.
Limbs torn to shreds by teeth that aren’t mine, I freeze in a million ambitions that demand lost drive.