Somehow, somehow, somehow,
I’m stuck in oxygen-rich dreams where the lights are too bright and the stars laugh at me.
I’m trapped in a disenchanted reality where the air is tasteless and the people are faceless.
The in-between is gray.
The answers elude me there. Frightened phantoms that flee from my advances, that slip through my desperate fingers like smoke.
I’m a fire forger and a dream weaver, chasing those ghosts to fill the time.
And you, the unintentional martyr, you fumbled your way right into sacrifice.
So bold, so brave.
The accidental hero the whole world wanted.
Praise be your name.
…You just had to do it, didn’t you?
Take my suffering and taste it:
Salt and sweat and iron.
Call it religion,
Call it art,
Name it after the absent colors of your crystal-coated mind, if you like.
But don’t ever say I didn’t give you everything I had.
Because here it is, in my palms slick with scarlet.
Here it is, in my bloodshot eyes.
Here it is.
I hope you’re waiting.