Even through the darkest phase,
Be it thick or thin
Always someone marches brave
Here beneath my skin

I have always been a coward: that has been the pattern of my life, painted first in the alleyways of forgotten suburbia; then on ice-dressed playing fields of sadistic schools and finally scrawled in screaming desecration across walls of dungeon cubicles: conveniences beneath the slurry of forgotten streets.

Whilst you, my brave heart, always rode the gathering storm. You, the creative one, the one so full of dreams; the one who had your life planned in all of its most intricate detail.

Of course, I could always sense you inside of me, crawling beneath my skin: forever trapped, forever advancing but never allowed to see daylight, never to find your way out to your true potential.

Never to take the time to consider what was different; what was the same.

Maybe a great magnet pulls
All souls towards truth
Or maybe it is life itself
That feeds wisdom
To its youth

Is it too late to tell me why you have punished me all these years? Was it so much easier than treating me as an equal?

Because now your lies have become the truth; light has become dark; and soon the living will learn the beauty of that final sleep.

The truth is that we could both have led a more satisfying life: there would have been room in this masochistic world. But instead you handed me the part of the anti-hero.

Was it those trivial arguments and dogmatic ideologies of the dark streets that decided our roles in this one-act saga? Because I realise now that I could have been you: that is what I’ve always wanted.

And all I had to do was believe.

Constant craving