If It Feels Like Love, It Is

In this ocean of LSD I might never find you... one hand overboard and its lights on and out; even the fucking air out here makes the vibrations tingle and sway. It's all horizon this far off shore, and the sunrise is only lacking a proper audience to its furious glory. I'm stranded with a lifetime of supplies and my body will surely survive. My soul, however, is still lost in the wonder of waking up with my arms filled with your form; so tiny in comparison, with a spirit that looms above me like a jury of my peers. The splintered deck rocks to the beat of my desire. My flesh is cracked and burnt in the unbridled shine, and all because you ran into the unsurpassable waters, away from my open arms and smiling eyes. How could I not follow in the tempestuous wake left by a retreat that haunts my illusory existence? How could I not follow you?

Good Mourning

The water called out to me with murky effervescence, embodying a voice of reflective calm and personal triumphs lost at sea. How many tombstones have been washed away into its aqueous grasp? The beach is my home now, the sand is my castle. I am buried beneath the dunes without eulogy.

Like a memory that I can only taste in reference, a touch I can only hope to have felt; my eyes jumped open to greet the light of this supposedly new day. Unsure of what implications had been exposed by my subconscious soul, I braced myself for the inevitable trauma of living life with a fragile heart. Sinking back into what some think of as reality seems like the only option when its 8 AM and the day is filled to the brim. Up and over, my succulent peach; over and out the door I was carried by will and raw impatience alone. I predict succession, expect defeat, am ready to fight tooth and nail to ensnare my future perspective's  supremacy above the static of simply functioning.
Paint + Wall + Poetry = Constructive Vandalism (hehe)