Sometimes stargazing settles the mind; other times it's called destruction of intellectual property. Boundaries lightly treaded over are still overstepped, and left alone once again I am, missing you. And life, O life just passes me by, as I nurse a dark mixture of boredom and solitude alone in my room, working out new pathways to my own demise.
Hope stopped living here a long time ago. Happiness missed the boat by a smidgen and it's been off course ever since. The directives are the same: "Go forth into the Arctic of your own heart and melt it with the fires of passion". Instead I burned the temperate forests lying just eastward, toward foreign waters I have never seen.
And now here I sit, boat strategically positioned between my failed objective and the destruction I've wrought, and I ask: "Do I continue and complete my objective? Or do I go home, acknowledging my losses?" Torrid affairs of state are not my cup of icy, frothy tea, if you catch my continental drift.
Your tender kiss beseeched upon me a plush stranglehold of mixed forgiveness and alarm, almost like you immediately regretted saying sorry for marooning me with a gun, a bullet, and a dream. Unfortunately that gun got me a crab, which got me stones, which gave me the tools to build a liferaft back to home waters.
And yet again you sit on my vessel, offering me recompense or a boat, a gun, and a bullet. O, how I miss the days of toy ships and plastic sailors.
