Capricious

75 - Kaleidoscope

"Youth is not a time of life; it is a state of mind; it is not a matter of rosy cheeks, red lips and supple knees; it is a matter of the will, quality of the imagination, a vigour of the emotions; it is the freshness of the deep springs of life."
- Samuel Ullman

It takes me like a sudden storm, a torrential rain obliterating its hesitant prey. Then like a wave it blows over, awash with a soaking glow, back to the beach to take it in. A cleansing suit of armour, running into flames, shields falling away, burning slowly out. A brigade of clouds ever hovers threatening me, but escaping the prison of my soul for moments here and there, sneaking away until the break of dawn.

I want an artist's life, a life of intensity, a life full to the brim. Desire lingers for a chance, drawn to faces sweet and figures unique, a chemical reaction of stories and smiles.

The life I wish will always sit beside me, shards squeezed through disparate and short, the full charade I know will never come. What desires I could live so easily as a child, drowning in innocence, experience growing and desires deepening with age, only to lose to the power of ignorance. My empathy stretches on and on, vicious and vivacious my beliefs strengthen and flare, while brainwashing my mind with systems I've been endowed.

I'm a conflicting mess of happiness and frustration, a collaboration of elements I wish to live and chains that I don't, the ultimate decisions of life weighing upon my soul in tumultuous flashes of anxiety. I fold to both sides and weaken with lacklustre results, volatile yet smooth bursts bending back and forth, choices that dwell deep inside teasing and threatening at the same time. Can I bring myself to jump into another life with all the chance and uncertainty it brings, can I continue down this path and still recover something from my soul, blare it loud and take full control of my life, can I be something more than what I am?

My life is a weapon I can't control.

Unbrowed, unconquered, the glistening taste of yesteryear, side by side our memories row, the jungle silent all around. A mirage in different forms, fluttering in the gentle breeze of reality, riling up our egos buried, our selfish display of character raging. We draw our gates and tend our fates, only a dream-self flickering through, lightning cracking just beyond us, denial of all too far away. The great wave dances in the foreground, an old man donating warnings of regret, yet the ignorant youth moulded by distrust, can only shatter the mirror not stretch it.

My soul is suffocating, my mind asphyxiated, my mood toiling in smoke. Dropping bombs of reality in violent explosions of thought. A desperate desire takes hold, a desire to root out and vanquish the horrors of the world and mind, to make things fair and better for all. I am the most foolish of fools, but that's the only way to draw my strength, clinging onto hope, a slave to empathy without loyalty to myself. Dreams blowing up to clear the way through my mind for a time, a glow of energy that fades so quick, left to wilt in self-exasperation, unable to bear enough, wasting away.

Simmering in the evening heat, washing my mind of sickness and grime, a chance to let go of plagues on repeat, victim to the earth and the master of time. A paradox of emotions that ravage, soul rumbling and thundering asunder, aching through my brain scorned so savage, lost on powerless dreams of discovery and wonder. I cannot bring myself to achieve any more, trapped in a world bouncing me to and fro, I'm bursting to scream and share and roar, of all hidden behind this rebellious show. I'm blending into time with every freedom I live, grabbing my demons by the horns, a matador dressed in red I slowly forgive, dancing around a deadly ocean of thorns. Wallowing in sleep and distraction and drug, weighed down by an anxious heart, trying my best to simply throw off and shrug, burning alight in the background ready to start.

Swiping defenceless at smoke of soul, an episode of darkness takes hold, draining of emotion and feeling, trapped alone with self-defeating thoughts.

We stitch together into fabric, within a mechanical loom, the grinding of gears, a clockwork state of mind. Then a firework we unravel, a light we spark, stolen by fantasies so wild and so sweet. Our giggling sex, the sun is our fire, burning away deep inside, collapsing gently into rain. We live what we want to live, ever stories to be made, ruled only by emotion, for the dreams we have seeded. No sense of duty, frozen from dead marshes and windy ascents, possession is a crime, self takes new meaning. Want and need they blend and vanish, a chemical reaction transformation, I can see, I can hear, I can feel, there is beauty here. The easiest routes, else harder but aimless, paint strokes bleeding colour, swept across the page. We are standing at a mountain top, we are lying by the ocean, we are delving through the forest, we are lost in each other's arms.

Then I crack, then I steam, then I change. Morphing in several directions, taking off my face, charging into the future, steps brash and new. To rise up out of this hole, more moments to add, more and more and more, fashioning new worlds to live.

A colourful soul seeping with passion, with stories that excite, with ideas to play, overflowing with light, a me trapped inside. I am discovery.

I feel so lost in all I know. I want to run away. I want to let go. I am only a ghost.

Bursting with wanderlust, a vane desire to live above myself, a slut for any sort of rush, meanwhile playing the game they want me to play. Like a stalk of bamboo grown tall, with a heavy burden held, swaying in a gale that threatens to uproot me. For sensibility or substance, a short immortality or long mortality, for certainty of pain or absolute uncertainty. I am not strong enough to be this artistic vision I play, not able to socially draw favour to my style, crying in futility and frustration, any determination built lost as I return to life. My mind is a kaleidoscope of thought refracting around reality, lost within my own bubbles, a meaningless genius, an aesthetic fool. But there is something inside of me, toiling and raging in my soul, and I know when my breaking point is reached, all that yearning passion and just resentment, it will as it has done before, chaotically explode.

When life slows, my mind darkens. I have to keep busy, I have to keep on discovering, I have to live fast, or else I'll fade.

My mind is a mess, crumbling apart in earthquakes of anxiety, the surface stuttering and glitching, havoc wreaking down beneath. I'm tuning out from life, no matter what I do to stay, my mind is distant from itself, stormy yet unreadable. Reality appears surreal, it echoes in my ears, flutters within my sight, pressures storming my body. My mind hurts, an invisible pain, in spite of all I have, I can't think how to make things work.

A war-torn world of mind, ravaged by battles without end, no mercy they swarm in waves and waves, a frantic free-for-all. Thoughts dance with retreat and resurrection, leaders assassinated and usurped, shrapnel scarring and maiming, melting together mud and blood. My skull the sky, overcast and grim, battered by missile and mortar, too much to keep inside. Tears amass as I imagine letting loose, blunt arrows of risk perhaps not to pierce, feathers swiped in my face for my failings, weaker for crying wolf at ghosts.

Ropes pulled taught, for not letting go, supporting constructs in my mind in order to stay connected to the world. Clarity beseeches, ropes loosen in solitude, riding waves of familiarity, safe from skirmishes of stress. Assignments due, a strain for a gain, to not lose something of yourself, only to completely lose yourself.

Possessed by phantoms of thought and shadows of drug, mood cursed by demons of ignorance, splitting my mind apart. Floating in waves, my fragile personality, from thick smoke to dazzling highs.

Shadows need light to exist, waves need the moon, regrets need choice, and disappointments need expectation.

A snappy mind, growling in the deep, barks and bites, for all that isn't fair. Instead I try to let go, enjoy this residual high, not dwell on attacks of injustice, and just remain calm. It doesn't seem right, to no longer care, but I must to keep my mind safe, for why should I care?

Blanketed by serene sweet sensations, the crisp clean air of the pale breeze, taken by the charm of the momentary life. Phasing in and out of history and mystery, a sprinkle of rain to dazzle my vision, habits of mind tearing my resolve. Not to care what may arrest, what may quiver in my thoughts, a silent shadow riding me in chains. Vicey grime may ever be washed, in order to slip between each life of mine, from stoner sloth to psychotic robot. It's raining blood again I fear, steaming within the pot of illusion, transforming my characters as fast as I can.