Silent submission. Lacking conviction. Falling for a narrative, not nearly my own.Choosing happy. Someone’s definition. Forgetting the dreams, entirely my own. To have it all, without the choice of reason. To break my fall, when comes the season. Struggle with the same, there’s no one else to blame. I can’t hack the game. This beast that I am to tame. Wrinkle, warp, crush, crash, destroy. Ignite, inhale, exhale, perceive, deceive, believe. Either or of truth and lie. Broken promises that I don’t deny. Cast me too in the sea of stories, where all that i am now resides. Magic versus medicine, the mystic and the mad man. Fighting over my conscious mind, the non-linear now linear. The life I’ve learnt to love and hate. Trying to gamble on my own just to be okay for myself and be the guy I want to be. I’d run away and leave it all, if only my tears won’t stream. To be a random nobody in no one else’s dreams. This is my heart, just bent and broken. You carry on a chain, as a token. A token to some definition of love and lust, found and lost, somewhere in the deep confines of my mind, a stranger still, a note to remind.
One response to “Postcard to myself”
Beautifully described. Oz, reading this you haven’t lost anything. You can express amazingly in any way be it drawing or words. ♥️