The ghosting waves goodbye

Te Puawaitanga: The ghosting waves goodbye

Just stay there, never hear me out, nor shout, but shiver me into the hell-giver’s river of denial. I kiss my moment’s goodbye and meekly marauder my madness back. To never lands of heaving hearts, bleeding with green envy, a soilent type of sadness thrives.

When I eat upon myself I gorge, a wildebeest’s breakfast of milk and honey, hidden from the hinterlands by a wash of blue-green see. I saw myself in the seventh wave, weak and weary from a moment’s sadness. I simper simplistic rhythms, sobs of scarcity and sagaciousness that asphyxiate; suffocate me and prey on my fever. Five days out of seven, I found heaven in the hidden lives of television: game of thrones you are my phone away from ET, you call out the lives of livery and licentiousness and beckon them to my abandonment. I have lost my life, it sifts through my fingers like the sand, insanity really, because if I only stop to look it’s right there, here and everywhere. If I can hear the waves break upon the shore, enact the breeze upon my skin, brown from the warmth of the sun, contrast the colours of the day as they sway me into song…

Then why can’t I feel like I am alive?

My body has died, it kills itself daily.

There is this grind that I have today shied away from. I have made it my new mission to continue to shy away from the world of madness, until I am able to convince myself of how good life really is, and always was. I feel like I have been living life in a bubble-wrapped bible, berating myself for this, beating myself upon the head for doing that. It’s almost like wanking myself to death.

I feel like my brain has reached its limit, its point of no return me to the desk, to sit for hours while nuns imbue my heart with alien arithmetic. Answers from the dire dearth of devilish daydreams. Imagine my life as happy Is the tune I want to listen to today, and so I have started to sing to myself.

It is the strangest thing to feel really poor… really, that’s how I have always felt…insanely poor, as if I had nothing of worth to offer. And yet here I sit, on a couch in the dunes on a beach, each and every moment blowing in the breeze as the bees make lonely love to the lupins. I can see ten people, three in the water, they’re brave… not that it’s cold, just too cold for me. Hmmm, two hot guys. Ten people, that’s five times as many as I would normally see. I am surrounded by beautiful hues; blues, greens, browns, greys and yellows that that pop like neon bulbs on rainy satin city streets.

And so now I suddenly don’t feel so poor.

Live me back into my own lavender days, sway me on the dancefloor, make me forget the unfortunate stares I give myself in the mirrors of my imagination, merge them with the shadows where they belong. This throng of fidgety fearfulness fades, slowly but surely, if I simply let it. “Songs of desperation, I’ll play them for you”, The Temper Trap tricks me into the taste of things long gone, never to return.

Bring me the new sunshine.

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