Life is an ocean,
and we are swallowed in the wake of others.
The salty taste sticking to our tongues.
The sound of a gunshot bitter to my tastes,
as I found it was fired by Bart Michaels
My friend,
in front of the Dugout in Omro,
the victim?
Himself.
Loss is not so much an ocean but a dead sea.
Where the salt is thick
and life is impossible
You are engulfed
in a sorrowful abyss.
It’s daft how people find a way
to blame you for all that goes wrong,
it sickens me
The taste of despair scarring my tongue.
I find I’m too lost to ask for directions
so I just keep wading through the dark
unfamiliar trenches
where the thing I fear most
is myself.
The golden sunlight casting a depressing hue,
as to reveal the bland world below.
Koibito stares into the empty horizon
his heart sinks
all hope seems lost
the skyline drifts away
he will never reach his star.
The water will turn to ash in our mouths
we will know we are lost.
The ignorant Wiseman will hold no more answers
I have painted the world red with my hatred.