Lunatic Fringe

There is a sublime beating of a heart in the distance and dissonant thrumming of life’s sweet irony ringing in my ears. The incendiary vision of the imprisoned poet and the hypocritical whelp of his unworthy shadow sound a bittersweet reveille and leave indelible marks on the spirit.

There we are left to syphon relevance from a tank of inconsequential nonsense only to have foul liquid back up on us and leave us retching helplessly in our solitude.
How I am I to fend off the shadows that close in from the corners of my room intent on sapping my confidence and turning me against myself?

They manifest into tainted dreams of lucidity that leave a stain on my consciousness and dash my hope against the rocks below the very edge that I teeter on.
I have but a small blue stone heart and a promise by my side to fend off these harbingers of doom but every so often I lose that critical foothold and stumble closer to oblivion.

While I am intent on diving headlong into chaos and letting the fates do with me as they wish it is the realization of my soul’s mortality that gives me pause. If love is to evolve beyond the pang of adolescence and beyond panicked dependency there must be some incredible motivative force behind the metamorphosis. That change cannot be borne of doubt, fear or anxiety else the lessons of yesterday become the reality of tomorrow.