It’s a return to form,
Breaking the norm.
Jumping all up in this *****--
Break the calm.

The only limits are the ones I set.
So, you better get ready cause I'm not done yet.
I've been chilling in my own space,
Living at a quarter pace
Now I’m about to switch the gears,
Couch potato pulling up in the race.

Catch this smoke
While I blast off,
See the words flow,  
Take it as a crash course.
Got the last word,
Don’t argue.
I already stepped up with the virtue.
Got the vision and dreams,
Plotting the schemes,
While I head for the top,
You're still sipping on lean,
So, when you see me prevail,
Don’t fall apart the seams.

My brethren.
This is heaven.
Turn it up to eleven.
Till now you’ve had the discount,
I've been sitting down at a 7.

Now I’m like a 2 for 1 with the double barrel.
Locked and loaded, with the bass and treble,
While you kickback with the recoil.
I step forward
Like a Beast
Boy
.

I've become accustomed to it all.
Time ticks closer to the end of a dull day,
All my will
Faded away.

It's been so long...
Am I a glutton for pain?
Tolerating the torment over and over.

Some days I don't need to close the curtains to let the dark creep in.
Some days... moments of sunshine.
It's never the same
Always different
Except the warmth is always gone.

As I lived
Music always lingered on every moment.
A soundtrack to every scene,
A beat for every memory,
Hummed and sung so joyfully,
Or cried out in agony.

The earworms I once bellowed out,
Till I'd emptied my lungs
...
I now listened to and understood.
Not entirely
But there was pain.
Tragedy.
Longing.
So much struggle concealed under a poppy melody.

How far I've come to sound like the music's changed,
When really,
It's me.

Sit.
...
Breathe.
...
Release.
...

I'm still not okay...
But
At least now I can play the part.

I sat in my room,
A rollup of green
Perched between my lips,
Bellowing away.

Above the clouds and gusts of wind,
I'd write these words.

I'm an artist for work.
It's hard.
There's always a worry for stability.
That worry now sits as the shadow of my works.
All impure,
Tainted by fear and anxiety.
Success is a goal so hard fought for
That I only see my true self in my poetry.

The one haven I've left for myself.

Pity me just a little.
So, I can lie to myself that you understand.
...
I could do with a helping hand.

Where’s my whimsy and wonder?
There’s just fire and thunder.
Lost up in my head on every single blunder.

Did I do it wrong? Did I do it right?
I’ll stay up contemplating all night.

Never reach an answer,
But it’ll never leave my mind.
And through all this struggle, I realise I can’t find,
The wonder and whimsy I used to have inside.