I feel,
The cooling and dancing breeze
Of the oh so open and desolate ocean,
I sit,
On the septillions of grains of rocks
Somehow, but surely making a soft bed beneath where I sit,
That other bodies of intellect call such, "sand."
Gazing,
Off these lonely, but peaceful shores of the border between isle and and sea territory.
I wonder,
If I were to be secluded to such a place like this, the family of a million forestry and its inhabitants breathing down my neck,
Waiting,
Watching,
Preying,
Ignoring,
I believe that this sweet decision of mine would not stop these salty tears,
Ever so running down from my burning hot cheeks, from wanting the world.
No.
It would only make the pain in my most passionate and ever hard-working organ within my fragile chest, being my oh so fragile lungs, but I would also make such a precious pain beat the sad, throbbing drums of meaningless panic.
This cannot be,
I must not fall victim to such selflessness.
I do miss those who I cherish in my heart,
Not knowing when I will come back to them, laughing all together as a clan once again.
No I do not know when that glorious time will be when (yo) me vuelvo to them.
That I do not know.
Perhaps soon, but maybe not so soon.
Frankly, I am in need of a blanket to keep my blood warm and pumping from this chilling and immediate cold chills that trickle past my shoulder blades, raising alarm to all the bumps on my lucid warm skin.
Doping my head from time to time, pushing myself from falling victim to a nearby predator who have kept eye on me all this time.
I must not,
No way shall I become 'your' dinner for I am no ones but my own.
I was given that right from the day I was pushed into this world and sucked on my mother's milk,
But it seems to be that the precious law that we, the greatly advanced that we oh so cherished so deeply... Or perhaps we have merely have took advantage of such to cause others to stumble upon picking up their far too little coin, have been thrown out,
As if it was never true for these predators.
Their eyes tell of only strength,
Truths that I could have never imagine within my simple but hardly lived lifetime.
Am I weak?
A mere human possessing no venom to call one's own,
No fierce, sharp talons to rip my way from slithering flesh to blood thirsty flesh,
Threatening me, long enough to take breath for the next day.
I fear for my life, for a whole three days in sole exile,
I fear,
That I am beginning to lose mind in the sense of things.
I've grown quite weary of fighting everyday with these blood thirsty beasts, just for keeping my skin on my back for another day.
I wish for my back to lay among the thick layers of warm blankets wanting to smother me once more,
Feeling,
Touching,
Appreciating,
The sheets that I have missed so. Resting the throbbing, poor tired head among dozens of pillows that have missed to support my needed conformity.
But a las that is just a dream,
A dream that I have been woken up from my absence to reality.
The reality of my arm puking out this deep red gushing out not so violently and standing in the midst my 'grim end.'
As pain fades like the previous dream, I began to realize that I have been so wrapped up into my approaching end that I meagerly spot a ragged speck in the distance beyond these overly sized dogs chowing down on the used-to- belong-to-me limb.
That limb I used to draw the unimaginable before my time of long and grudgingly depressing discouragement.
I realize now,
That is it not the blanket,
To keep me from falling victim from cruel winds and gnawing frosty bite at my naked flesh.
It was not the bed and pillows morning for my return.
No it was not those things,
But it was 'mi mochila de la escuela,' that I needed the most.
How,
How have I become so blinded by this such late discovery,
Am I such an impudent fool to not have looked far and near,
Low and high for such an important aspect of my daily life after I was so strangley and randomly stranded on such an inhumane isle.
Thus, it is already too late,
My heart, which have ran lovely and much appreciated marathons around the past days of my youth.
Already two thirds down the starving dog's belly, I have accepted my fate.
But I have only regrets on the foolishness that have went by unchecked.
Again,
How have I been so foolish.
Shame.