Tales of a Drunken Cabin Boy 8

3-24-2016

Written to- Spiral Streams by the Outs

I awoke this morning to a hole in my chest, and a storm cloud in my head. Maybe I wasn't awake yet, my dreams may have forced me deeper into its clutches. Someone pinch me so I may get the hell out of bed, So that I can break free of my own shadow pinning me down, force feeding me thoughts designed to keep myself hidden from anything positive. 

My saviors have arrived. They go by "The Outs." The song shuffle continued to this track so the melody and delusion behind the drums reaches out and fills my ears with guitar strummed LSD. The first paragraph in this writing no longer exist, for the shadow has faced a crumbling defeat to the power of song. Each day, we pull a trigger that could either have a bang or a blank. You know the bullet will spring you to joy (The Outs for example,) or that the blank will make you feel six feet shorter as a human. 

The point is, reload. Look at you scolding at how I attempt to promote and improve your well being through analogies like a gun. Don't even think about questioning how hard taming the beast really is, when we both know it's as easy as your shadows answering the simple questions of happiness. Sometimes shadows of depression make it seem like their company is important and wishes for you to know isolation is the key. Just reload the damn gun and try again, stop allowing your shadow to hang around. 

We know we cant end a mental illness at the snap of our fingers, but I will absolutely always come out with the title belt. 

Until next time,

                           Your Cabin Boy