A discarded white canvas,
that stares with hazy eyes.
It sees me contemplating
as I smile and cry.
  
I try intuition.
I try to forget the insults,
the petty competition.
  
Yet, the ink flows not
and the infinite cackles.
A million choices,
a singular outcome.
A singularity of
a dozen truths,
a dozen lies,
and a dozen perspectives.
  
“What do I say?”
  
The canvas smiles,
and my heart giggles.
  
They open their mouths to answer.
  
“Be as you are.”

Here you are.
Running and running,
you stand here at a border.
One of vessel and mind.
  
Oh, mirrored child!
How you have grown!
Still...
too tame, too wild.

A paper without a pen.
A frown devoid of rage.
Your words are vibrant.
Your value is undefined.

Static as a variable,
dynamic as an organism.
You have friendly masks,
yet volatile insides.

A friend?
A foe?
Brutality or mercy?
It is time to choose.

Oh, my best friend...
my oldest enemy...
how do you do?

Come aboard this submarine,
and observe the sea,
so peaceful and serene,
yet terrifying.

Ebbing and flowing,
never shrinking nor growing,
the tides come
for payment due.

Waves crash and slash,
writhing and weaving,
smoothing rocks,
bringing seashells
but spreading plastic.

Coral grows in a thousand hues
amidst the bright and dreary blues.
Fish and octopi wander
unaware of the world so sombre.

Debris and rotting bones sink,
along with skin and dust,
uncaring and indifferent.

Descend into these darkened depths,
no, no need for eyes,
do try and hold your breath.

Curling tails and bladed mandibles,
they promise to only take a bite.
Deceiving lights and crushing pressure,
this place welcomes not.

Finally.
At the depths.
The water crushes your skull,
and you are truly free.

Why is there a plastic bag?

A tiny ember.

It nibbles at kindling.
It is now a marble.
It is fragile and weak,
and things appear bleak.

It bites at twigs.
It is now an egg.
Its glow radiates red.
The fire is not dead.
Smoke is revealed.

It gnashes at sticks.
It is now a head.
It twists and spins,
with a crack and a snap.
The twigs grow black.
The ash falls to soil.

It devours the logs.
It is now too much.
It slashes and weaves.
The world cracks and trembles.
The air quivers in fear,
and is dryer than bone.
Sirens wail in the air.
The ground is bare.

Helicopters arrive,
and water descends.
It roars in pain.
The fire has now been slain.

Everybody leaves,
sighing with relief.

In death, it tries.
It leaves something.
A gift.
A tiny ember.

A gust of frozen air passes by.
Sand and silt submit to air.
The ground is barren and bare.
The sky is quite.

Frost creeps through stone.
Warped whistling is abound.
Distant wolves howl.

Atop a frozen lake I stand.
My clothing ***** to the wind.

The ice breaks.

They see it not.
Their eyes open to me,
yet their heart remains closed.

My mind a web of ideas,
my heart a compass.

Warps of mercy and construction,
wefts of brutality and destruction,
how to share this tapestry?

Words?
Wounds?
No methods appear.
Am I to be silent?
What to say?

Let us stay a little while,
midst the light and bloodied bile,
let us see what we can see
with our deceiving eyes.

The mother feeds their child,
and the scorching sun rises.
The lakes glisten like stars
and the birds sing again.

They're playing soccer.
And talking.
And having fun.
With eachother.

The plants move and twist,
and the tide ebbs and flows.
The grass is emerald.

They invite you in.
It just isn't for you.
If only it was.

The sky is an ocean of blue.
The birds fly like scattered sand.
  
You start doing your homework.

You like it.
You love it.
It's great.

It's fun.
It's so, so fun!
So fun...
that tears run down.

Yet your eyes are hollow.
Your head is full of soot.
Why?