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THOUGHTS OF A VISIONARY

Expression through words


Image result for BLACK OCEAN
I am a dreamer, but not the kind you're thinking of. These dreams do not chase the infinite charms of the universe, they do not seek to uncover more splendour beyond our vision although they exceed the realities I am accustomed to. These dreams encompass unique powers capable of transporting you to  other-worldly spaces that still somehow possess an overwhelming familiarity despite simultaneously being so alien. These dreams distort what you think you know holding an illusory mirror up against your existence, commanding you to look at the crooked reflection that is you and is not. The things I experience within them I feel too human handle. Each night the light in my eyes dims a little more. The weight of this lingering sense of wrongness swells as I shrink, like a parasite is crawling within my mind and stealing strength at my souls expense. This world is flowing with undercurrents of darkness that is unconsciously overlooked in the scurry of a frantic race towards nothing, attempting to cram each moment with distraction, remaining occupied and oblivious. But in sleep, I am alone and I am vulnerable. I am submerged in a black ocean that reaches the shadowed corners of my memories and fills the crevices in the ugliest parts of my imagination, taunting me with my deepest fears of the known and the unknown. These waves know me. And the menacing energy they leave behind is unshakable, it stains my face with hopelessness.
They threw old stones at my skin but old stones did not hurt me.
They scraped me, igniting like a flint.

They threw sticks at my red skin but sticks did not hurt me.
They danced like children around a bonfire, my flames only growing greater.

They spat their words at my skin but words did not hurt me.
They wished to drown my blaze, but their words shattered to lone letters, like a mirror reflecting the cracks in their bones.

They dared to step closer and their skin bubbled with blisters from the scolding sting of my heat.
But do not dare to condemn me for my rage,
 when hate is all I eat.
You tell me you'd like to see me again, 
what you'd like isn't my concern, I'm not an old friend


You know not this person, though she looks like me,
the young girl you reminisce could no longer be 
Don't give yourself credit, for you were not the artist,
I watched myself burn in flames, turns out I'm quite the arsonist,
and I laughed like a lunatic under the full moons light,
as the flames painted their shapes on the surface of my eyes and boy did they gleam bright


If we were to meet now, it would only leave you confused,
that young girl ran out of love after it kept being used
but humans need a fuel, a drive, a will to live,
and she flew on her pain, so now pain is her gift to give
She doesn't need to survive because she can rise from the dead,
she grew a second voice, a second brain, replaced her heart with Medusa's head


and you would not like to see me again, 
what you would like is not my concern, I am not your old friend.
I heard foreign thoughts spoken by an inner voice I no longer recognised. The paranoia began engulfing me like a pathogen, consuming me rapid and completely the way he once had. I have tried flicking through the pages of us but the motions of a scribbling hand desperate to etch the words to  paper before the moment passed had smudged the ink across the middle, the way it had blurred in my memory. All the page now read was once upon a time and the end. I pondered, trying to understand how he had become a stranger to me once again, but began to realise that it was I who had become a stranger in my own mind.
 I looked through rose tinted glass for you, for you I call stupidity hope and truth a paranoia. I notice your inconvenient paths past her, I recognise the way she grins at you the way I once had. The suspicion is alien to me, an insecurity I did not know I was capable of but the glances you exchange  that you think I don't see are too familiar. Had you ever really listened to me, you would know better than to take me for a fool. I see you, I see her,  I see it all... I see you reading this right now. 



Her eyelashes flicker like the broken bulb above,

As she lies through the grit of her teeth
Of the places she's been, and things she has seen,
Of which we will never know.


She howls at the moon from her bedroom window,

And it rains from the doors of her soul
About the pain inside, the demons within, 
Of which we will never know.



The heavy mask upon her skin is painted thicker each day,
Whilst we are deluded by one side of the mirror
By the image she creates to hide the bruised victim beneath,
Of which you will never know. 

What a beautiful truth it is that the lips that compose such beautiful words, to express his beautiful mind, crave mine. That he chooses to share the tools of his creations with me. And when we kiss, I can feel us falling further into each other with every touch, merging into one energy of synchronicity. I close my eyes and watch us in my imagination. I envision our auras escaping from the breath exchanged between us, rising like red and orange stained smoke. The vivid swirls resembling marble defying the darkness of the night surrounding us, one intertwining the other, undisturbed by the skies tears. Every particle of my matter feels magnetized to him. I surrender.
My limbs latch to his frame a little longer than I know they ought to, clinging to his hinges for I have broken from mine.
And I search for a soul within those blue pools searching back at me a little deeper than I know I ought to, believing I could swim...
 but I'm drowning in him.