Pouring

My heart beats.
Hands shake.
Breathing raspy.
Leg bouncing, bouncing, bouncing.
Counting down the imaginary rests I want to take.

My head quakes.
Shake loose the negative, cling to the positive.
Advice makes the result feel preposterous.
A violent whisper, a brush of fear

A death match fighting back a single tear
that tears through the mask of confidence I wear.

Distrust in confidants, abundance of disloyalty
lurking in the stone face perched upon my head.
Hope is a dream deferred.
I’ll refer you to the chronicle of the pain that formed me like this.

“Let it go,” they say. Easier said than done.
I’ll twist a cliché so hard it’ll replay till the end of days.

Cracks in the stone face.
Dismay and cold plays.
Stoicism a joke.
Suppression breeds depression

A regression of life’s lessons, a soul confession
strolling into mayhem’s direction.

I feel numb.
I feel like I’m repeating myself.
Repeating myself.
Beating myself.
Cleansing my self-worth,
draped in the mantle of clearing the family curse.

Clueless to how it benefits.
Pivot the imageless.
Make the barren limitless.
Gravel falls at my feet.
A noseless sphinx
It's easier to breathe.

Do flaws give freedom or are they demons
we refuse to face?
Inspector Gadget on the case.

Humor gives room to loom on the doom
that’s sure to come soon.

Tidal falls. Spinless moons.
Wordless tunes. Blue balloons.
We all wear costumes that bloom
under the tombs we cocoon in.

Is it too soon to say life feels like a cartoon,
witty enough to assume you understand?
But under the hand of the dealer
lies the truth carved like a rune.

I speak in code to bury a heartache—
A hypochondriac heartbreak.
I can’t take the weight of not knowing truth.

So what’s the use
in waiting for Mother Goose
to drop that golden egg?

Desperation. Temptation. Alienation.
They all lead back to a choice—
yet I freeze in the process
to make a dream come alive.