Victimized thoughts

l feel alive when poison is running through my veins numbing my pain.
My head bowed a train of thoughts running on daily routine rails to make me feel sane.
I feel alive digging on my veins bleeding out as tears pour to heal the wounds in isolated cabins.
My story on repeat splashing my emotions on a canvas barely noticed hanging like another talent on display awaiting perusal.
Walking through burning fire blistering my dreams just to resurface a past calling in the darkest hours to give poisonous solace.
Dressed in my clown attire an acquired refugee identity hiding my tears behind a mask of smiles;
Making you applaud and laugh in merriment playing a role you have scripted.

Educated and led down a safe path shaping me into mediocrity;
Breaking free merely succumbing to defeat at the hands of my own rage.
When the world is asleep a dreamer within me comes to light.
I am steal weakened in the furnace shaped with pressure,cooled in water for restoration of strenght to creat a sharp-edged sworld cutting myself deep.
Leashed to a heavy rock,tossed in a sea,drowning to the bottom gasping for breath as l suffocate.
Capitulating to my fate feeling only whats real....PAIN.
Iife is death l will live beyond the grave bereft of the worldly burden when l am gone.

Trying to find peace turning the pages but still stuck on the same chapter.
Rewinding the clock that is stuck on the same hour.
Battling depression cutting the embryonal attachment between my intelligence and negative perception.
I have captured my rationality in a self designed prison and my sanity is peeking through gapped bars.
Holding myself together just to maintain my composure;
Life is a tough war l doubt my strength of soldiering on.
I am generous with my blessings at the weight of my insufficiency;
Apathy is a drug putting my sanity at stake but my addiction is strong for simple escape.
Resorted to an antisocial demeanour as l fail to defuse the ticking down bomb in the company of hypocrisy ready to detonate.

Victory conviction

I am a king wearing a thorned crown.
Cornered bleeding profusely in the ring waiting for that heavy knockout but l keep swinging until the final bell.
Fearless in the middle of heavy storms because l stand at the calm centre of violent circulating winds.
I went on a quest searching for me but l found empty fields so l designed my image.
This world is fertile grounds l tirelessly journey following the voices calling me to a land awaiting the plantation of my pegs.
Ambition caught in flames burning to dust but my dream is a resurrecting phoenix from the ashes taking flight to new heights.

Isolated by a crush lost in a dark island but l keep waving the ariel searching for a frequency to my emergence rescue signal.
The brightest light is a relief of flooding bliss when released from a long stretch of darkness.
I keep my scrutiny on the sand for foot prints fading yet still visible to guide me home.
The brightest days have the darkest shadows;
The hottest rays of summer attracts heavy rain seasons.
I do not climb on the biggest stages with bright spot lights to reveal my my presence and shodow my talent.
I am content with a podium that squeaks at the weight of my passion.
Calm seas promise a good voyage hiding the premonitions of sharp fanged ravenous tides.
I am a pirate embracing the storms conquering my fear sailing through to manifest imaginations of triumph into reality to appreciate the calmness after.
The darkest nights illuminate my visibility glowing with exuberance of purpose like a shooting star passing through with resilience.
Conversing with family is an endless interrogation of dispiriting judgemental criticism belittling a giant in me to their dwarfed existence;
Hanging me on the wall like a mirror reflecting their imperfection passing vile self-righteous semons of dispassionate advice tearing my walls rigorously with the force of wrecking balls and expect my gratitude to perfect their image.
Unfortunately l dont stretch my hands to have them replenished with opinions from people contentment in safe comfort circulations of miserably lost ambition yet exude the audacity to point me in the right direction.
I am facing an army,armory torn, hope dwindling but l dont kowtow to defeat;
I recuperate my fight and plant my flag honouring my pledge to the uniform adorning my wounds to my dying breath.
I wear thorns on my head carrying my cross humiliated with chorused jeers lashed with spiteful whips but l keep going knowing that l will die a king.

















© luisRupende