Kaiden Blake

I cried an ocean to tide my mind over until the shoreline would cease to exist. My eyes brewed the perfect storm, salty on my lips. Lips like mechanical gears on a balance beam, provided with acrobats and rusted limbs. My head is a sailboat, my neck a rope imprisoning me to the dock. Meek minds filled with a mission, hateful hearts with their power trip pulses that seek to control. Hardships are only boats too dense for gravity to propel.

I’ve always dreamed of shaking hands with the horizon. I see the colors change in the sky, bidding me goodnight and welcoming me to each new day as my eyes lift their sails to toast to possibility.

Chance is only a chant, only a reverberating message that is corked inside a bottle. So much desperation filling such a hollow space trapped within transparency. Such heavy words for a vehicle that is thrashed so carelessly amongst relentless waves. I am washed ashore, my ship succumbing to stagnancy, seasick with stillness. It’s a wonder sandbags keep my mind at shore whilst the pebbles beneath my feet offer no resistance.

One day I will bathe in the horizon.