Deserted Heartbeats

By Draven St. George

The days blend together like sand in the desert,

Each grain feeling heavy like sandbags on my shoulders

straining to get to the end of each roadblock

But I live through the repeated beats of my heart

The first day was tough, feeling coarse like sandpaper

The gloomy overhead of a raven passing through street lights The pulse beating with an excessive force 

as my white skin grew pale like murky beach water

Gripping the sand in my hands to hear its solemn crackle 

A mirage of a blooming life stands beyond the threshold of growing foliage

As the heat burns my skin to show the cherry hiding under a beige

The eyes trick those who want to see the water drip from the fountains of a fairy tale

Just because they like the refreshing sound as the water hits the oasis

I lie in a bed of sand looking up at the wavy skies as the heat pushes them to northern winds

My vision fades as the shades of blue and white become too close to one another

But kicking the sand in frustration seems to regain my focus

As the holes I dug show the depth of this forsaken Hell that has pulled me within

I close my eyes in hopes of the beats flowing into my veins like bubbles

But the beats continue to scream at me with an unfamiliar pulse, I feel like I am drowning

But the surface seems miles above and the last bit of air feels like the last drip of the fountain oasis

I must learn to live the life of an underwater metronome, as the beats sing in a parallel rhythm

Ghosts of those who let the beat run dry float around me like forbidden ancestors

Watching me forget to tug on the rope that pulls me deeper into the ocean

However, their haunting gaze gives me a boost, and suddenly I know what I am fighting for

A metronome’s beats can’t be heard if its tune isn’t loud enough for those who are skeptical

This is the life of someone with a beat that has no similar rhythm

This is the life of someone whose deserts of brand new pain feel like fresh wounds

This is the life of someone whose oceans glaze over the heated core of their temporary anger

This is the life of someone with deserted heartbeats