Blue

Blue

Almost every word I write is a selfish proclamation to myself of my own importance,
Because no one is going to be selfish for you.
Not in the honest sense anyways.
Everything I've ever spun together and whispered to myself was simply a blanket to hide under.
You could hold my heart to your ear,
And hear the ocean raging inside.
The echo of everything I deny my starving soul,
Deep and Hollow,
Room enough for the grandest troubles to lose themselves.
Bright and blue, like the eyes of the gods
Judging every manuscript my inner prophet ever tried to feed my pride.
They laugh at my reasons, while he screams, 'It's for her own good;'
It's forever never ending,
Shrouded from the understanding,
And a dark violent pit of mystery dances on the surface,
Swallowing the ships whole like nothing.
Day by day,
I am the monster in the deep,
Eating the good hearted sailors alive,
Kidnapping their cargo and storing it somewhere dark and secret
For only me to see.

That is my face.

Inside the endless storage of boxes, lies hope,
And there be no better place for it
Than in the darkest pit in the ocean
Where I would find I come to need it most.
Times when the storms win the race,
And steal the ships from the surface
Bunker down somewhere warm
Eating daily rations of hope and weathering the rough edges down.

I have never been fragile,
Only trusting.
I lead the harmless into my library
Intent to share my treasures,
My warmth,
A thousand feet under,
Where the real fault lines lie.
The library where children became monsters,
And dreams become weapons.
A place so deep no god could find you
Where sanctuary started a new name for itself so long ago,
Taking up arms for the sake of survival.
Gentle touches would wear your fingers to the bone,
And a shift would start the vertigo.
Bright eyes became hungry wells,
Ideals became a raging force,
A silent breath became a roaring storm,
And next thing you know I'm taking an earthquake to the face.
Composure? Pfft, I do this everyday.

See the fault in the design is,
I dig out good intelligent people,
Look for their comfort.
Dilemma comes down to,
Intelligent people rightly label me trouble,
And me and good people have nothing in common.

There is the blood of something beautiful,
Something wondrous,
All through my body,
In everything I speak,
In the depths of that sea shell...

But the only bloody mess that they see,
Is the blood that soaks my hands,
At the cost of something wonderful.