The Chromatic Dreamer’s Journey

I salivate at the thought of atom lasers and waves of splattered rainbows,
The way they collaborate on an acid halo,
technicolor schemes that I’d envy more than me.
Oh, what it is to be, a color never dreamed,
enactment of life, elapsed by the clockwork collapsing of time.
Facets of ‘why does it all hurt?’
A village helps a villager; if the villagers hurt,
Do these pills help the piller if his pillars are burnt?
His bridges are burned? His highways corroded,
How do I ride into the sunset if I can’t shift out my motor?
Road to hell is paved with gold embellished shades, it’s so subjective.
Wave hello to your soul in separate planes,
I don’t know.
Stuck in a layer of concrete, put flower petals to the metal,
A gentle giant so powerful, yet afraid of his heartbeat.
Accept what we think we deserve—excuses for bad behavior,
Human nature to constantly be stuck in reverse,
it gets worse. “But it gets better,” nothing to learn from forever,
the soul’s dark, Wholeheartedly wrapped in fatigue,
thought of happiness being something that you have to achieve,
Awkwardness, my bed cries with me when I’m sad in my sheets,
Trail of tears that supersedes the native retreat.
I create a path of logic built on a mountain of lies,
Mountain lions call me out on my pathological lying.
Fake it till you make it, hate it till you love it,
Love it that you hate me, it jets the fuel I huff in.
Was taught to cherish things that were romantically scenic,
Sucked nostalgia dry ’til nostalgia was bleeding,
Drank the blood from a chalice and soaked up its privilege,
Youth gave me a run for my money when I was broke to begin with,
A loner with dimming hope, so dull it begins to show,
A biography of my life would expose darkness over light,
Like an eclipse, with a plot twist most would think morose,
Eskimos have 50 words for snow, I acquiesce 50 words for hate,
Most manifest themselves in bloody knuckles, bloody gauze, and tape,
Learned to roll with the punches, but humans weren’t meant to roll,
A ball inside of me, that snowballs bigger every time it’s cold,
Every time I hold myself when I’m at home.

I’m a droll, dry-amusement, type of guy with nice intentions but with bad conclusions,
Soft-witted, mild human, sophisticated tall thinker, with a soul that’s sly and stupid, Controlled environment, spry delusion, I’m told, it’s tiring, To expose your entire being in poems, and in higher reading.

I never said goodbye once, cause I believe in good karma endings,
Nice guys finish last, but you learn more when you’re not as condescending.