Spotlight

Spotlight upon me, shining evermore.
It is bright, warm, and awe inspiring.
But despite its glow, I shine brighter.
I am the star, the focus, center of attention.
The stage is the world, and the world is mine.
It is here where I give my greatest performance and steal the show.
I am neither arrogant, nor prideful,
But glory unto my act, and unto to me as I perform.
I perfectly maintain the facade.

I finish, but there is no applause.
No standing ovation, no congratulations, no simple gratitude.
Disturbed, but unshaken.
I have been taught and trained to maintain composure at all times.
I take my bow, but not of my own will.
I am forced down by the weight of insecurity.
The silence is sickening, disheartening, debilitating.
The spotlight remains, and I wallow in hidden agony.

Spotlight upon me, and its exaggeration of my weaknesses.
It is now the glaring microscope harshly trained on my inadequacies.
I am small, an ant under its influence, belittled by it’s taunting gleam.
Left open, and made aware of my vulnerability.
I am naked, stripped down to my most basic self.
From uplifting to scrutinizing at a moment’s notice.
What is left will make my final show,
My last appeal bask in the light,
And receive its love.
But there is none.

Spotlight fades, and darkness rules.
Thoroughly robbed of all I had.
Yet the grasp of the abyss is fleeting.
The blackness lifts as the theater lights fall.
Illumination brings clarity.
With enlightenment I can see the faces.
Everyone in the crowd is the same,
A homogeny of non-existent expression.
Blank canvases all around.
Nothing moved, nothing there.
What was once mine, now belongs to us all.
But only I know what was lost.
The isolating spotlight has lifted,
And this new light is now shared,
But I am still alone in this empty theater.

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What

What is it when love is not enough to give?

After I’ve given my time, and have little enough for myself to live?
What is it when these eyes shed more than just little tears?
With the pouring oceans, representing my nightmares and fears.
What is a held hand, in the endless story of letting go?
Just a weak symbol, something as fleeting as the Spring’s snow?
What to give to when the rivers run dry?
Is it the soul? The weakening look in my eye?
Will that be enough when I draw lest breath and die?
Where do I find it?
How do I get it?
What is it, when the colossal effort is just too small?
After a tireless fight, after I gave it my all?
What is it, that thing I’ve forgotten?
That thing I’ve search for, ignoring whatever the cost?
For everything that’s slipped away, and all I’ve lost?
What isn’t, when it’s just not enough?
What is that thing when I’m filled with weakness, but pretend I’m tough?
Where do I find it?
Does it exist ?
What is when love is not enough?
What is the price? Is it too steep?
Where is that thing, the jewel I’m forbidden to touch?
How do I grab it?
How do I hide it away?
I need to know before my final day.

Unraveled|Undone

Bond of blood

Bond of brotherhood

Bonds are broken

Bonds are lost.

Binding links

Like shrinking chains

A short leash

A quick change.

Tying knots

Unraveled and undone

Shattered dreams

Leaving one.

To despair

Inevitable feeling

Fading memory

Imminent fall.

Final song

A sirens call

Departing hour

Biting past

Broken bonds

Where chains don’t last.

Intoxication: Relapse

Stay away I tell myself, but I miss the feel.
I love, I crave.
The sickening addiction I can’t escape.
Helpless, and a slave.

Intoxication.

Through my veins, into my soul.
Clear my mind, and take me whole.
Melt my pain with numbing flow.

Intoxication.

Every hit I feel freed, and chained down as I bleed.
I hate what this does.
But for more, I beg, I plead.

Intoxication consuming me.

There, and back, and back, and back again.
Repetition is comforting, the habit consoling.
But poisons break me down.

Intoxication.

I’m shaking in, all the way to the bone.
Withdrawal leaves wanting, and wanting again.
For the next, I need, I desire.

Intoxication burns like fire.

Filled with lust, disgusting hunger.
Stealing, taking, the things not mine.
Thrown away to quell my want.

Intoxication, I’m suffering.

Overcast: The Black Storm Ballad

Clouds roll in from all walks of the earth, block out the sun, and dominate.
Their power is subtle, but not completely unknown.
Nature responds, and it’s animals flee and seek shelter from the storm not yet come.
The mists blanket the lands, consuming all in endless gray. It is thick enough to rob the sight of the sharpest eyes.
No remorse, no mercy, only its complete control.
All are slaves to its grasp.
Desolation, solitude, suffocating confinement.
The skies begin to roar.
They are crying for reasons unexplained.
The sky’s tears flow, and flow freely into infinity, drenching all in their sorrow.
The small, weak, and slow are caught in the resulting floods, drowned and crushed by the rushing waters.
They never stood a chance.
Turbulent torrents sweep over all, devouring relentlessly like the gluttonous man— no restraints.
A hideous being so engorged that it has morphed beyond all recognition, and has abandoned all humanity. Forsaking beauty for its ugly and wicked form, such is the way of the storm.
Lights streak across the sky, from sorrow to rage, and from rage is born an unspeakable hatred.
Tears no longer flow, and instead the sky lashes out in its new found fury. Fires erupt where the rains failed to reach.
Nothing is safe, nothing is pure, nothing untouched.
Betrayed and defiled by the seemingly gentle heavens.
Cursed, kicked, and burned by the very sky whose beauty knew no end. A demon in an angel’s garb.
Allure is the tool of the despicable, used to crippling effect, as the Earth would know.
Ravaged, washed, and stripped bare by its now once known companion-turned-adversary.
Closest friends to complete strangers at a glance.
Once deeply intertwined, now acknowledging the wrongfully imposed separations of heaven and earth.
The skies quiet, the fury appears to retreat.
The tears flow once more, and the lament of the stars bleeds out over the lands.
Toxic, and sickening.
Their pain is fully realized in every single drop.
The flames are quelled, but the damage is done.
The scorched earth is not washed clean.
Instead, the mournful stream fuses with the ashes of hatred, breeding the black sludge of regret.
It is a bile unlike any other, the worst poison known by any being, both mortal and divine.
The disease spreads, carried by the misleadingly gentle winds.
Deception reigns once more.
The plague soon reaches every inch of land under the gray-owned sky, and by nightfall, the pitch had claimed the earth before ascending skyward. Blackness over all— a throne left in waiting— now claimed by the seemingly rightful king…