Mr. Blue: II

Mr. Blue’s been lying down, a lot, he doesn’t know about that. Mr. Blue’s been living mainly inside his own head. Insomnia doesn’t deter him to dream away the hours. He dreams of her and how it was. Of her and how it could have been. He never dreams about how it is. Mr. Blue just can’t do that. He’s a stone inside a river, desperately trying to hang on when he really should let go; Mr. Blue just can’t bear himself to do so.

She wrote a song once, using his words against him.

Back then: Mr. Blue, he did not know, he couldn’t even fathom.
Now: he hangs on for dear life, even though his fingers bleed and all of his muscles spasm.

There’s a reason Mr. Blue is so incessant, for sure, a mantra playing on repeat inside of his skull: “The one good thing I have left, the one good thing I have left, the one good thing…” just a crying shame it was far too late when he realised that. Mr. Blue’s a walking cliché, but it’s just the way it is; you only realise what you’ve had when you no longer have it. Mr. Blue’s no different than the rest of us.

He once claimed it was just one more cut. And what’s one more cut amongst a thousand? How wrong he was. Mr. Blue’s an idiot. Not merely skin laid bare, but bones completely severed and then have the resulting wreckage thrown away. Mr. Blue isn’t a lizard, his limbs will never grow back.

Sometimes, Mr. Blue thinks, his tears will wash all away. He’s wrong, and he knows it. He cries to no avail. If only he sometimes wonders, but he’s lying to himself; sometimes is always, and what was will never come back. Yet Mr. Blue won’t accept that. He just simply can’t. He’s already broken; one more straw and he’ll never be able to get back up.

Cause Mr. Blue’s been lying, down. He’s been lying down, a lot. Mr. Blue’s been lying down a lot and doesn’t care a bit about that. He’s only alive in the memories he has.