A Pier

My best friends, they are far away islands I once was close to, sitting on my dingy in the middle of the ocean. Rowing to visit each one, I strayed from course and landed in the middle of the ocean, in a place with a pier popping out of the calm waves with a fishing rod on it's wooden boards.

I placed myself on it's edge and cast my skinny long legs out All Star tips nearly kissing the salty water. I stayed a while, staring at the reflection catching every detail the waves tried to undulate.

I thought long and hard about the times when my feet could step on sand and rock. I thought long and hard about the times when I saw myself a little clearer. And decided that wasn't any less blurry than the images the waves sent me.

A storm had passed, and I found myself a little bored.

So I walked over to the other side and picked up the fishing rod.

I sat back down, same position as I had sat for so many days and nights before this instance. Goosebumps and fears aside I cast the reel in to the farthest depths of the mirror-like water.

There I sat fishing lost for angels in the ocean, the opposite direction one would think.

At times I caught some boots, and it made me wonder if any others were here before me, and wondered if any of them found what they were looking for. Other times I caught fish, but they weren't big enough in my opinion, so I sent them back into the ocean in the hopes that they would grow and eventually someone else like me would show up and reel them in.

I sat for a long time, a long time indeed. In the end I feel a tug and a pull and well, clumsy as I am fell into the ocean.

For all I know, i'm still in it.

But something tells me it pulls and tugs me in the right direction.

Away from the pier, back to the islands.

Cityfolk and The Lost

God i'd sure hate having an awkward wake-up call.
Waking up next to someone you don't know pretending they love you when all they really want is for you to be romantic for the next few hours until you both go to work and never see eachothers faces again. A poet sailed away from his home and doesn't think he'll be seen ever again, got caught up in a storm and will be lucky if he makes it out of this one alive.
Cretins the whole lot of them, trying to impress me thinking i'm that easy. I'll be taken in dead before I set foot on that kind of soil anytime soon.
Sunny days that turn into stormy sailing for the poet, he drifts off for a few seconds in hopes of regaining his faith in his memories. Looks behind his shoulder and see's a giant wave heaving over him.

By the night I wanna get your calls to tell me how many lines you've gone through, maybe i'll get turned on enough to stand the wet coke and sweat dripping on my sheets again. It wasn't meant to happen considering you came to my home at 3 in the morning shaking and obviously in need of comforting, it's the only use for me these days.
Our hero awakes in a daze with sand in his mouth and a rubbery hair from being in seawater for so long, spots some natives who have a mischeviously inviting smile on their faces.
Not too long from now you'll see me walking by and call me out from the crowd, but i'll try my best to ignore it. Not that I don't like you, I just don't bother with this kind of thing anymore.
Now our friend has been captured by natives but has found a loophole in the chiefs daughters heart. Good luck, dear one.