Ambition

[oats]

I don't believe in nightfalls, it might sound dumb or obtuse
but I've only noticed darkness rising - a smothering plume
and while the sun is consumed by shadows that tug at its hues
I watch it, wonder and muse, like what the fuck should I do?
almost 26, a third of life is under review -
though most likely closer to half, with all the drugs I've abused
hailed as brilliant, but don't get me and my brother confused
he has legitimate genius and applied it for a functional use

me? I have a hunger for truth, but a squeamish digestion
part-time sunken recluse, tenured fiend for attention
cursed with unquenchable curiosity without equal dimension
behind a lonely, unfocused soul with a need for expression
seasonal tension - I walk a tightrope on a lean to depression
countered with pigmented smiles, but don't believe my complexion
one-night significant others n' my addiction to substances were means to discretion
just emotional coping tools; crutches for my ceaseless dependence

all these secrets I've mentioned have helped me come to the meaning
that there's 2 of me: one awakens while the other is dreaming
one's the CEO, the other shows up drunk to the meeting
yet neither can help but think that they're underachieving
Earth's magnetic exhale, feel the iron lungs of it breathing
defying gravity through the mass that governs its being
feet like stumps of a tree - frozen, sunken retreating
while my head suffers dreams held captive under the ceiling

still, a thunderous feeling echoes - perhaps it means I'm hollow
it tells me “lead with your heart, then happiness will follow”
so I do. I bleed through this art, pen n' pad to ease the sorrow
but I can't remember a second recently I've had to tweak my novel
It's about my hometown and the changes we have to eat and swallow
It's about the charm of the rainy season, the magic of each pothole
the people stuck here with only drips of ambition to salvage from the bottle
It's either genius or it's awful - I'm so erratic with bravado

But now I'm this backwards teaching model on the brink of insanity
The beach erodes while the marsh is slowly shrinking in vanity
Meanwhile my novel's dying with them - everything is a tragedy
And I guess it's all my fault because I think in analogies
these manifested connections bely a simple reality
that EVERYTHING - our very existence is shadowy
afoot the curtails of a golden orb, dependent on alchemy
we're tossed and twirled about by the whims of its gravity

thus ambition's a malady for a fatalist body
so I awaken every day and stick my face into coffee
complacency taught me not to swim, just drift with my peers;
all I need is love...job security and a fridge full of beer
the picture is clear, night continues even at the shadows end
it’s not that dreams don’t come true – we just grow out of them