People tell me that things will get better
to trust my gut and hum my songs.
But to waste goes all I've tried and done
left in deep dark drains and pitiful pits.

I envision my endeavours in magical colours
that seems so mundane, that haven't been
discovered.
And writing my dreams on a bland blank sheet
it feels so incomplete.

I cross my heart and swear
I swear
that the pieces I create shall be priceless and
timeless.
And that whatever lays in the far-fetched future
will only be sparkles and glitter-full glory.

With the rackety clack of a Newton's cradle
I live on in envy of what I have created.
My eyes are shut
so I can see
a myopic view of me.

Like Icarus who fell so far
my ambitions fly close to the sun.
The Phantom whose love was stolen
away
left trapped in a Box 5.


I drive myself to my greater potential
Like Jason and his Argonauts.
The insanity of such greatness is flattering
and absolutely morale flattening.

I keep my thoughts in stasis
pulling them
apart and piecing them back
the creativity of lego pieces
infinite

Corralling my inspirations
like Noah on his Ark.
The warnings given days too early
and now I hold naught

but the night hallucinations that
keep me going
and the sun in the dusk sky