Because I'm an Octopus I found a cave.
So terrified of the ocean.
Too many fish. Too many colours. Too...
It was filled with promises they call shells and gold.
As time went on I couldn't venture out.
Too many too.

I've become tangled in all my tentacles.
My shells turned to sand and my gold was fake.

Three hearts but no courage.

They like to tell you stories when you're too young to swim.
Of ships with satin sails and masts of gold.
Of islands with hidden treasure.
Of damsels in despair.

Ships rot. Treasure is for the rich. Damsels love their despair.

It's better to be an Octopus who hides in his cave.

Confessions to a Jellyfish

I've been wading in these waters for so long that my legs and arms are numb.
Have they fallen off? Am I floating or fighting the waves?
I go under and swallow salt. Choking.
Your unwanted human arms wrap around me and force fed me. Oxygen.

I saw your destruction as I sat in the boat you constructed out of sea-weed for me.
Watching. Weeping. Waiting.

Jellyfish can't drown.
You're still swimming.

Swim to me and I'll keep you safe this time, I swear it.
I am an Octopus.
Let me wrap you up in my octet of arms.
You can sleep there.

Is there a place somewhere that is free from nightmares?
Hallucinations aren't welcome there.
Are the faeries and birds banned?
We can sit on the shore and drink tea.

Will my fertile words paint you a smile?

Hopeful. Bouyant. Hopeless. Fearful.

Ramblings of a Paranoid Friend.

You don't know it but-to put it harshly-you make me hate myself.

Only not at all.

Not in the way you might think. Maybe not so literally.

Not even close.

I'm a shadow in your sunshine. Cloud in your rainbow.

The truth is that you are going to leave me.

Some call it paranoia. I call it perspective.

You will either find her-the better friend.

Someone that can understand you, comfort you in a way I lack.

She'll compliment your shine.

Or...

You will find him-your coin-operated boy.

He'll fill that need you have.

His heart will add new colours to your rainbow.

In the end you'll turn away from me.

No amount of denial takes away this fear.

It breaks me everyday.

So I hug you tight and keep you close.

No matter how selfish I am you won't me mine forever.

I'm over dramatic. I am.

But.

I believe it. I live it.

You might be wondering what this has to do with you making me hate myself.

Hating myself but not at all.

It's more that I love you, and everything you are.

And it makes me see my faults. They are highlighted next to you.

How selfish am I?

No matter what, however, I am proud of you for being-well-you.

Ignore this, really.

I'll change my mind about half of it in time.

To tell the truth the only constant is my so called paranoia.

So forgive me if I squeeze too tight.

Drowning In A Sea Of Indifference.

On the bottom looking up.
Reflection. Refraction.

Water sinking in.
Breathing in the lack of oxygen.

The over use of metaphors that aren't methaphors at all.

The sand fixes itself between the spaces in my teeth.
Choke.

Cough the particles up into a painting of shame.
Silent. Clean. Free.

Freedom comes in chains of guilt.

Feed me your love in spoonfuls.

Gorge me with your need. My need. Our need.

I want to take the air you breathe and secure it in a jar.

My jar.

Answers to Nothing, for Everyone.

There is a mess of sin yew pushing from under this membrane.
Veins. Feelings.
It's a game beneath my skin they say. We want a race! The first to the top wins salvation!!
Ignoring them proves useless.
Complete. Unsatisfied.

I've grown out of myself. No longer fitting inside.
Craving. Desiring.
The closer I get to nothing, the more of everything I receive.
It's a well restricted chaos. Nothing of what it is and everything of the same thing.

I'm building up for something great. Shhh.
Creating an end. Constructing an exit.
Exiting the construction site. Ending the creation.

Mirrors reflecting mirrors.
Images of images.
Scenes of scenes.

Mock Life.
Mock Peace.
Mock Mock.

It's the unit circle at 0 and 360 degrees. Meeting.
Complication. Implication.

The secret is that for completion there must be destruction.
For the perfect life, all life must stop.

The end is defined by the end.
Stop thinking.

Quite a Sinking.

My skin died a few weeks ago.
I tried reviving. Cuts and burns don't touch me.
More proof that I'm no longer real.
Fading into my own mind. Escape. Comfort.

Catatonic.

She doesn't know she's killing me.
Words I've repeated over and over till my throat is sore.
I think she knows I don't exist.
White shadow. Brilliant. Blinding.

I'm over dramatic and paranoid. Destructive. Constructive.

What I want is sleep. Deep and dreamless.
Under a puddle. Shallow sinking.
My head has been held up by the ends.
Pulling.

Rip apart into myself. My real self.
Who she is...well she isn't yet.
I'm creating her by destroying the unreal person.
She who squeezes into my skin each morning.
Leaving me awake and shivering when I try to sleep.

My Darling Muffin, You're Rotting In His Mouth.

I've been sewing and sewing.
My fingers pricked to strips of skin.

She tore me open. Ripped me.
Lullabies. Love. Lies.

I'm out of thread.
All the spools couldn't hold enough.