Prose

burgundy beach

written by: johannalabeat

Here i am.
standing in the current of devotion and despair, lost in the sand of dangerous lies.
and to whom do i owe my gratitude?
the man with the distraught heart, with the apple colored eyes?
or the man with the electric vains, the fantastic lies?

do i owe it to the friend who's fatal cries call out for a fictional savior?
whose whisper alarms over seven screams of sadness, but is lost in seven sunrises of promise
helpless, all i can do is listen and forget. wait and regret. my part is absence.

so, higher power, up in the animal shaped clouds and the star stricken sky. to whom do i owe my lack of experience which has brought me to a standstill on this sandy beach?
do i owe it to you? to your ironic persecution and mocking of morals? your constant confliction of excuses? do i owe it to you?

do i owe it to my legacy? the creeping up of an icy sky that falls and crashes into their democracy of hypocrisy, and leaves me homeless in my own home.

i owe it to the insecurity within the deepest of me, the place where my heart used to be. in the secret garden in my forest of lies, the place burned down by the element of surprise. and all that is left is a burgundy tinted beach. a place where the toothpaste radio sings a melancholy tune with the tide, and i am left of alone to contemplate the consequences.