Capricious

77 - The Spice of Life

"Man is most nearly himself when he achieves the seriousness of a child at play."
- Heraclitus

Blending chaos into ritualistic life, pushing through the shadows of living, a covert operation into social structures, just to satisfy my gluttonous soul. Sacrificial armies to play our novelties, riskier moves to keep my capricious mind at bay, lost in thunders gruelling and cruel, running through storms just to reach more of the sun.

Stifling crises in my wake, choked by grasshoppers wide, a spiralling journey for the take, rushed helpless in the tide. There's a stain on my mind, corrosive tongues twisting south, for all negativities I find, wings growing in my mouth. Broken to the bridge of craze, raging highs and cloudy lows, unable to avert my brainwashed gaze, falling asleep in summer snows. Spicy times on the edge of reason, where wasps buzz inside my head, for this is the freedom season, yet instead of a rainbow I only see red. The prison bars cry with terror, surges of regret conspire, a hunk of meat consumed by error, life muted as I dwell inside the fire. Bleeding my every thought, surrendering to the flame, in exquisite feeling I'm caught, burning through the game.

My snowflake yet to melt throughout the seasons, she steadies my mind from dancing into darkness, drives me with the passions I desire, gives me the strength to be an artist once more. We've fallen into place, my mind alone with her, sparking into life whatever dreams we may have, what dreams I may yet have lost. She makes living so much easier, a second body to bear all chores, no thought to give part of myself to her. We're running at the same speed, stars that have caught each other, bodies that melt into each other, we take on our wars together. Passions shared and discoveries made, fading in and out of each other's lives, for someone that listens, for someone that cares, for someone that is sure. Our sensible love.

I am a hybrid comet of diverse living, gravity drawing in fiery gases and frozen rock, living parts of life at productive speed, and other parts slow and sensational. I adapt to the world around me, worlds I propel through or that collide with me, the way I think so extraordinary, to analyse and plan, experiences for living or choices to be made. It is adventure I create, within a boring tale, or order I bestow, to problems all around. In all I am forging the world around me, these systems that I touch, becoming intellectual and wise, and yet the envy of simpler lives. The strength I have built to make my moves, becoming better each and every round, to live purely in dreams or else asleep within life. I want to live better, I want to live higher, I want to think better, I want to think higher.

My body battles between pain and joy, explosions raging on within my bowels, storms within my head, attempted escapes from all with sleep and drug and distraction. So I lie escaped from the real world, dying into music and memory, proxy adventures through the screen, with what highs I may reach within my crypt. These weights pressing on my mind, attacking my spirit and my soul, clouds dismal and grey weakening all resolve, suffocating and suffering for all that isn't quite right.

Humanity has halted, the ease of dopamine our curse, little motivation to advance, we lose our dreams to intoxication.

Apart from the world, not quite here, a daze away, from confrontation and change. I've stopping caring, opinions expressed for what they are, unphased by consequence, an ephemeral judgement in an otherwise sea of calm. I've had enough of this life, my emotions dragging me towards the next, ghosts trying to hold me back. Yet behind this cool a fire does rage, the honourable fool maybe, lost inside this illusion all do play, but as smoke I may yet rise.

A blank screen coated in white, sweet supple bends in the air, mystifying sprays of light, shiver beyond my pale stare.

I lay embraced by song, the shape of music showering my mind, dreams of faraway places here and there, haunted by stories of adventure.

Just a little flavour, crouching in a garden of strife, my perseverance does waver, cutting like a knife. Flying brief like a bird in a cage, fleeting freedoms in my name, frustrations boiling with every page, time dying all the same. My body comes stuck, retching in mental pain, lashed into giving a fuck, while losing myself to the rain. It is only a lonely rhyme, for the parts of me that die, anxious of all lost time, only to start over with a sigh. Smoking just to breathe fresh air, to relax my dying mind, to dream a life of care, and the spice of life to find.

Stars within the stripes, the palm tree tickling me, electric suns glow with light, and yet I cannot see.

My life is now a tale of two sides. One figure tired and worn, burdened by my mind, removed of emotion, working for the days. Another bursting with passion, alive and well, enamoured with joy, sparking in moments rare. The world drives me from one to the other, slipping into a more alive me on occasional times, else squeezing in highs between days. My mind is tired and I do not truly know why, whether it is the shadow of my corpse-driven life, or a consequence of synthetic highs. I'm a sprawl of indecision, the choices that befall me taking tolls from my existence, ripping my mind apart, while suffocating in conflict. My soul is flickering, and darkness is encroaching.