Fool.

Someone once told me that if you stuff your mouth with glitter and walk out into the sea that you could breathe.

I choked.
I am a foolish boy.

Somewhere I once read about a man that grew tentacles out of seashells buried in the sand.

My garden is barren.
I am a foolish boy.

Once a mermaid kissed my cheek and promised that I could swim.

I drowned.
I am a foolish boy.

Untitled.

I found a ship in a cavern. Dark. Cold.

The wood so rotten that touching produced ash.

Golden print worn away depicting a name. Fate.

Water lapped against her and I placed my head against her helm.

I cried until I too was the sea.

I was the sea. Salty.

I was the unforgiving tide.

I was the lover.

I wrapped my wet arms around her and squeezed.

Wooden planks cracking.

I kissed her withered sails and the wind that protected her choked me.

Every darkened corner of her I filled until she broke to pieces.

Splinters. Sinking.

I swallowed her whole.

I found a ship and I made her mine.

Such a selfish sea.

Life in Electric Tentacles.

I was swimming out to sea.

My last pleas escaped my salt water chapped lips.

Dying. Reincarnating.

I sank below those merciless tides and into the arms of seaweed.

They strangled me sweetly.

All the waters faded black.

"At last I can sleep!", I cried.

Deep breath. Ink filled my lungs.

A figure swam by my dying form.

My half hearted glance turned into a stare.

A cephalopod. A woman.

Tentacles wrapped around me.

A siren voice singing in my ear.

Electric shocks. A heartbeat.

Limbs shook. Veins pumped.

Life forcing itself back in.

Our tentacles tangled and we danced along the sea floor.

For a moment the ocean stood still.

The only sound made was of whispered promises.

I tore open my chest and produced three hearts.

Water turned blue with blood.

We exchanged hearts.

Connected. Bonded.

I was swimming out to sea.

To die. To be reborn.

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.