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Poem

The last page in the final book of a series
is said to be a cliffhanger
the best part of an exciting adventure...
I feel I may be finished
I feel this may be the final pages
or just another sick twisted joke I've decided to conduct on myself
for I am awaiting a fool 
to prove to me there's still sunsets in silhouette dreams
Mayday Parade
I have spoken their name in endless sequences 
like they were imaginary sand castles just being swept away in high tide
or maybe I just picture that being me
My days have grown dull and bleak
my nights in return, long and headache prone
Somehow the carbon copy has been me
and the seed of originality has been thrown into a lava pit I can't see
Flames of Panic, Flames of Embrace
just an array of flames with a solid label
I crave a time machine to go back five years...
five years before I was caught off guard...
I crave a time machine to go back five years...
five years to when I was last happy
...13, unlucky 13
I've hardly been lucky...
Twist, scream, contort
all actions committed under a comforting cover
to combat the frightful images playing in the subconscious 
but I'm barely conscious
The sun is my movie screen
and I have fallen asleep by act two
Asleep and running away from the people who would possibly persuade to constantly lie to me
chase me into oblivion
Scarlett Jade, my mermonic butterfly
Scarlett Jade, my Flames of Embrace
why must you try so hard to get rid of me...
Why must you build me up like a tower 
to a bulldozer tear me down...
Why...
Why...
All these irrelevant things walk hand in hand 
holding hands with relevant dreams
while building sand castles at the beach
and I, the lonely fisherman
sit here anxiously, harmonizing with an imaginary friend
to ask the ocean air the question
'Is everyone here make believe? '

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