bleed me an ocean

[rottrevore]

<center>


You're a dead motherfucker,
wading through a world of shit.
With dust on your lips,
tell me do you exist?
You were born to die like this, baby.

</center>

<font color="#8d8c4d" size="1">[ October 12, 2006 12:07 AM: Message edited by: rottrevore ]</font>

[rottrevore]

<center>

"the sound of the ocean is dead..
it's just the echo of the blood in your head."</center>


<p align=justify>
at a young age, his family had blessed him with the nickname ocean, and it had stuck like superglue all the way up to his current twenty-five years. as a dirty blonde, blue eyed little screamer, he loved the ocean and the beaches and lakes - anything and everything aquatic. back in those days his mother said he swam like a fish, and these days she said he just drank like one.

<p align=justify> in all his years, the only sedative for his afflicted soul was being near the water and having the chance to regain his peace of mind. the ocean breeze seemed to blow the sickness away from his mind, and erode the negativity from his thoughts like the wind eroding sand dunes in the desert. sometimes the strings of his emotions pulled at him, and he did not feel them. the breeze picking at his pores revived the emotions lost to him, made him feel like he was alive.

<p align=justify> at times in his life, he'd been found spread-angel in the tides of the rivers or beaches, letting the waves lap at his seemingly lifeless body. as the waters washed over his skin, he felt baptized all over again. ocean felt the crime and impurity stripped from deep inside his bones, and the water absorbed peace and hope back into his weary vessel of a body.

<p align=justify> the particles sticking between his toes, as his feet buried themselves in the sand, seemed to recharge his sense of youth. real, terrestrial earth beneath his feet reminded him or where he'd been and where he was. the soil helped reign in his wanderlust thoughts out of the clouds and kept him grounded.

<p align=justify> at every chance, he'd steal a sunrise or a sunset, pouring his frame out along the shores. the way the ocean swallowed the fire at dusk, and how the sun rose defiantly every morning let him see the raw, unadulterated beauty of things. the kaleidoscope of colors painted across the skies, reflecting themselves along the mirror of the ocean - it told him to seek out beauty in all creatures and in all people.

<p align=justify> to him, the ocean served as a religious experience and therapy session wrapped into one. it redeemed him of his own manipulative trips and drug-addled crimes, leaving him as a saint once again.

<font color="#8d8c4d" size="1">[ October 11, 2006 09:26 PM: Message edited by: rottrevore ]</font>