adrowningmansballad

[adrowningmansballad]

the jester is no more

a murder of crows is thought to have gathered, as an audience awaits a new joke to be fathered.

and so he appears, his spirit crushed over dinner. eyes low, face solemn. cackles from family over his shortcomings. he wears the crown of a fool.

he realises it is futile; this moment, this day, his life. he will never be accepted as an equal. they will always find glee in his strife.

as time goes on, he just sits there. picking at peas, each word from his father cuts him smaller and smaller, until there is nothing left to stone. tears threaten his pride, as they join in the camaraderie of teasing. if one were to ask what could make a family of jesters and martyrs laugh, he finally knew the answer. a failure.

[adrowningmansballad]

confessions

the memories and expressions i write down are folded into tiny, paper stars that i hide in a jar. they're packed as tightly as i can muster until your bubble of oblivion bursts. my confessions shower you like meteors until they are the only thing you can see. i worry of your suffocation as you bear the burden of my thoughts; force-fed to you for breakfast, lunch and dinner. in the time i've known you, i've learned that one sided love isn't painful for only the proclaimer.

[adrowningmansballad]

a realisation

I'm realising now that the reason I feel so lost in life is because I had no plans in growing older than a child. the dreams i had are phantasms that now haunt me in the forms of imaginary friends. i am now nothing but an extra forced into the light; a hollow imposter living in the shoes of a better me.

[adrowningmansballad]

she had become nothing but a parrot in a cruel society of liars, no longer a vessel for her own thoughts.

my favourite greek myth by far.

Alexandre Cabanel, "Echo", 1874

[adrowningmansballad]

familial pain is a blunt knife

I'm at work, making a coffee. Yes that's it, for the bus driver who just came in. There's a dull pain in my spine, it just emanates a heat so cold, I shiver I hear cruel whispers, of something I have tried hard to forget. It won't go away. There's a presence I think it's behind me whirling me around, there's no time to- We are face to face. I feel threatened. A lump is in my throat, I suck in my bottom lip stare up at the ceiling, willing my vision wider. I can't do this, not here. The tide falls away. I look back into it's eyes, pupils like corridors, leading to nowhere. I smell milk burning, then I am alone again.

[adrowningmansballad]

to drown in a field of water lilies would be a dream

Water-Lilies by Claude Monet, 1904 (Musée des Beaux-Arts de Caen)

[adrowningmansballad]

report card

Do you have a heart? Can you feel it beat in your chest? Does it feel ooey, gooey and warm like the early rays of December's summer sun, peeking through your glazed windows when you wake? Like when a shy little girl or boy sneaks glances at their crush in a coming of age film with bated breath while walking to school, concealed by the shadows of wilted wallflowers. Does it flutter like cabbage butterflies that dance around your head as you walk down the cracked paved footpath? Tranquility breaks as you trip pitifully, the crumbling of concrete matches your confidence and crimsoning of cheeks. But you'll have more to be embarrassed about soon, don't you worry. Can you feel it pound as you're rushed by an influx of bodies, washing over you? As you enter school, moving from each class, slowly sinking on that anxious breeze that trails through the tall towering trees. Carrying that distinct scent of eucalyptus leaves that tumbles you dry. It follows you all the way to the end of the day, where you start to feel less alive. Can you feel your blood run cold when you realize what day it is today? When you're handed your progress report, and read the freshly printed Letraset flowing down the page. A column that pummels you into the earth- "A- for Math, A for Science, A for Music, A for Humanities, A for Physical Education...B for English". It's not much, but it's enough. It's enough to justify what will happen next. Does your heart thump hard enough to begin pushing it's way out of your chest? With each step home, do you feel yourself falling over? You might hope you trip again and break your arm. Or crack your skull. Or just bleed. Any reason to distract from what's in your hand. And when you finally get home, do you accept your fate and place the death sentence onto the dining table? If so, you should probably go hide. Wait in your bedroom, with only the melody of your heart sitting in the void with you. Does it drum the same beat of the bedroom door slamming open? Scuff marks signing "please kick here" from the day before. And the day before. And the day before that. And the day before that. And the day before that. There's nowhere to hide and you know that. All you can do is hold your breath. But we both know your heart won't steady. Do you sense the wall shake? The way they vibrate as he comes through the door. The windows rattle, no longer glittering with that warmth you felt when you opened your eyes. Are you starting to feel that sense of doom, as the static that descends like a burning vignette threatens to end you. You're unsure if your heart will burst from the pressure swelling in your chest, but your ears most definitely will; "You almost got an A" "You've really slacked off this time" "Maybe you've spent too much time with your friends" "You did so much better last term". It sounds nice enough now, but your continuing existence pours oil onto the fire; "You're a waste of space, you know that?" "A waste of time even" "How can you be such an idiot?" "That's all you are, and all you ever will be" "How could you be so sly and manipulative, making us think you could actually do something well for once" "Don't give me that look, or I'll give you something to really cry about" "Maybe grounding isn't enough, I ought to-". No matter how hard you try, this is how it ends; No happy love story in sight. It was never there to begin with. The end credits thanks you for your achievements that led us here. Do you have a heart? I have one. But I think it broke a long time ago.

[adrowningmansballad]

the grey waltz

a faint waft of burning sludge tickled my nose as i stumbled through the manmade field of hardened stone and splintered wood. the familiar scent could not be distinguished from the rich, decadent gasoline coating the floor or the greasy cooking oil that was used to commit a sizzling embrace around the corner of the block. as the odour grew stronger, i took an eager step forward, breaking a delicate figure under my cold boot. glancing down, a broken dollhouse befell my somewhat looming shadow, lying depressingly amongst the beauty of the real world. a closer inspection allowed me to observe the occupants still inside, clutching each other’s hand in a desperate attempt to express a final farewell. their figures required the utmost gentlest touch, paper thin like the veil of indifference to this hellscape i tried to maintain. in the distance i heard a thunderous boom like the world had been cleaved into two. smog, thick and luxurious in all her glory, came hurtling towards me. her presence felt urgent, wrapping around me tightly and filling the surrounding area with her smoky embrace. she caressed my face as if to persuade me to dance with her, through the beautiful field of rubble and over the charming ruins. the crackle of the burning buildings provided the perfect rhythm that matched the joyous tunes of static flowing from the handheld radio within my grasp. an orchestral symphony of distant gunfire and regretful cries joined the mechanical heartbeat that coursed through the two of us. it was so moving that i was stripped bare as she grabbed for me. a showcase of vulnerability was my forced ode to her glory, surrendering my identity to her power. the surrounding landscape unified as we blissfully spun together, a jarring palette of monochrome and fire ember orange creating a dreary kaleidoscope of lights before my dulling eyes. touching her curves and waves before me was intoxicating, leaving me addicted to the claustrophobia of her grip. she took the lead in our ethereal waltz, past many remains that i could not discern. but at last, my journey with the beautiful ashen air came to an end, and i suddenly found my reflection staring back at me within a lonesome puddle. my features had withered, viciously distorted into an anguished cry that could all but be carried away by the wind. clothes battered and torn, as if my imprisoned guilt and sorrow had reared their heads in rage and attempted to claw their way outside my husk of flesh and bone. i was fragile and cracking, waiting to be shattered into a million shards. my decrepit skin became transparent, but stained with dirt and grime. a deluge of tears rippled my pale cheeks, as if nature was trying to hide what i had become. i turned back to claw for the comfort of the darkness, only to be met by an emptiness that resonated aggressively within. feeling lost, i gazed towards the horizon, as if searching for a saviour amongst the gloom. in response, the sun rose and bathed me in a golden glow, washing away all my despair. its presence caused my mind to melt out of my brittle skull and pour out of my ears like the slick oil i had smelled ever sweetly. the sensation was spiritually blinding, as if a god waved his hands over the city to shroud my sinful eyes with his purity. a buzz filled my ears and battered my bloodstream, warming my very soul from the inside. i was desensitized, like the synapses in my brain had been burned by a foreign fire, and my heart became a chasm. for a small moment, she left my mind, only to be replaced with ersatz evergreen and colossal towers that stretched up into the sky to greet the heavens. a strange scent of sickly sweet flowers skipped towards me, their petals laughing in the wind with a tone of mischievousness. it swirled with an air of familiarity, as if to distract me from the grim reality. carried with them, was a slight tinge of a haze, following ominously like the shadow standing behind me… waiting to dance with me again.

[adrowningmansballad]

dolphins

my mother and i love the ocean; the salt satiates my mind instead of the thoughts i let consume me. one time, when i was little, she took me to a pier, and we spontaneously got on a cruise just to get closer to the sea. but no matter what i did that brisk winter's day, an uncanny looming sensation would not leave my fragile mind. at the tender age of 13, i realised that a fear of death prevents the living from feeling alive. to me, it was a persistent stench that hung in the air. sometimes it felt like the nagging thought that someone is behind you when you walk alone. you start to wonder what the path of life should look like, and if stumbling through it was the intended design. hand in hand with my mother, she pulled me towards the worn banister railing of the ship. the wood bended in unnatural curves, as many an eager eye had yearned for a sight of something rare. she enlightened me as she pointed to the dolphins, as if her instincts whispered that they would be there. "when you feel scared about life, think about this cruise. when we left the pier, you never thought about the end of the journey right? you only thought about the dolphins. their elegance, grace and how beautifully they swim in the water. i bet you even wished them to gleam hello to you!" my mother then got down on my level and swept me into her gentle, maternal wings. "life's meaning is like the dolphins. you'll miss the moments if you keep thinking about the end."

[adrowningmansballad]

alive

A dying rhythm is forced steady One thought conducts the drum. Continuous, painful, Unnerving me. I play till numbed. My growing contemplation Slows what will aggravate And leaves the sound fence weak Repeatedly.  Preventing fate. The war continues from my body And cleaves my fragile mind Then I start to wonder Is this how it feels, To feel alive?