when i didn't understand/hated the ocean inside of me

i do not remember the last time i was so mad, driving home tonight at sixty miles per hour on rinaldi listening to "apres moi" as loud as my ears could handle. and i don't remember the last night not being fully aware of why.

i just don't understand. it's like i build myself this golden throne of a mountain only to look over a city full of shit. like, i give myself the illusion, the demure disillusion that for once perhaps something will be nice without me cloaking it in my own self-effacing doubt. do i have to dig myself this concrete castle of shadow and question?

but what does it matter? i know the true fact of the forthcoming future. it's imminent. though half of me is saying 'you are a clown to doubt yourself, simple, monstrous fool,' the other half of me speaks as loud as the sun and it hurts every bone in my body because it's screaming "no, you'll always fail, you'll always be rejected, nothing will ever work out in the end. and you're a damn fool, boy. a damn fool, you know. you think you carry the universe on your back when in truth you're nothing more than the smallest grain of sand, barely touched by the turns and tides of anything heavy or light, anything worthy of laughter or loving or even forgetting. you are merely a paragon of dust, you poor poor animal."

what sort of sick sculptor cast me with such weak clay?

and i don't even know what you are to me, sweet minaret of a character in my sad little story. are we riding high the white foamy crests of time's ocean, or am i drowning and pulling you down with me while you struggle to the surface for a simple breath of sea air?

you see, but now that i am seeing eye to eye with my mirrored self, i realize that all the emotions i felt were not as strong as i thought they were, because with these words, they left me like an exorcism.

some things are static and some things are as liquid as the sea; one is as solid as stone, and the other is constantly moving and churning but in truth always staying the same.

so there. life is comprised of obvious constancy and overall constancy.

i am leaving my static clouds now for the salty air, the moonswept tides, and the chance that perhaps once or twice in my entire life i'll be able to swim through the storms instead drown in them.

--

p.s. there is a likely chance that none of the above words carry any true emotional value. they are merely raindrops onto a cold and unforgiving concrete street.