Decaying Gray Doors – Day 71, Never Give Up On Your Dreamz (In progress)

Havana nights,
On my mind,
Like,
Never before.
But,
I’m at a mic,
With a line,
Multiplied!
So,
That I can weather any storm.
And…
Reign over the eye,
Keeping watch of my every move,
Looking for the right opportunity to strike!
Until I’m consumed by its inevitable pour…

Blessed am I,
To have cleared a sky,
Pervaded by,
Scrutinizing clouds blocking my view from a horizon,
Revealing such tantalizing beauty,
Anyone would fall in love with if given a chance to excuse each,
Vice gripping them in a chokehold through loose-leaves of,
Raw papers covering each wound or a,
Drink barring souls from giving their selves a shot to get drunk!
By their passions…

I’ve had it!
I’m…
Saddened,
By one’s reluctance to get up and fulfill their own prophecy,
To withstand their madness,
And,
Let go of what Profit sees,
Before,
The smile we tend to hide behind a mask,
And,
Our destructive habits…

But,
When catharsis imbues one’s pupils with darkness,
Where demons bustle from corner to corner to harvest,
An ocean of tears for all of us to drown in,
What can another person do besides,
Understanding the taxonomy of pain they’re presented?
More so,
What’s kept classified in a heart closed from the aches of,
Loneliness and rejection?
In a world thriving off of deception…

Our fault it is not since,
Life is too surreal to realize what’s real,
The more we reel from every lie concealed,
As a truth we seal,
In our eyes as they close with,
Undying certainty…

I get it.
Those reasons why we keep our pain buried deep in our bowels with shameless regret,
Writhing in our stomachs while we churn it like butter for a slice of life caked in our lack of respect,
For the flesh we are bound to.
But,
Are those reasons ambrosian while taking whiffs of a mound,
Full of rotting dreams,
Most fail to see?…

Maybe not,
You tell me!
I can’t picture anyone in excitement for a plate as moldy as the attic hiding what may distort the image of your falsified reality?
Gray areas where a youthful appearance is kept while in the most prized painting degrading into a classical travesty?