Isolation Island

Isolation Island
Hermit crabs and white sand
Only space for one, thanks
The rest get sent to the Drunk Tank

It’s pleasurable at times but also rarely named endearing
To be the only soldier at war amidst a colony of faith healers, spirtual leaders, and protectors of the people

Admittance is the first step
Second calls for the kill cam
If you’re struggling by step three they push you directly into the suicidal tendencies dead pan

Anyone named follower is deterred and lead astray
Anyone who follows them was lost from the get-go anyway

Anyway!

Yesterday I found myself scouting the shipwrecks for supplies
Hoping something from before my time could help protect me from the lies

And so unearthing treasures labelled useless by their owners
Has brought me to believing that
Perhaps a spring cleaning of my conscience is in order

‘Uncertain of your fate’ is never beggar’s food of choice
Defies the desired outcome
Offends the inner voice

Unpleasant often is the truth when you’re asking prophets to weave you fallacy for your own mind’s defense

But at the same time makes no fucking sense

Isolation Island
Named a blessing
Yet a curse in stealth
Would you rather kill the ones you love or stifle out your flame of health?

When the monsters in your mind escape the cage in time for feeding, would you last be spotted fighting or fleeing?