Poetry (Sunshine coast of my love)

The red mist descends
to be clear maybe it never really left.
Every wrong decision, every mistake i ever made led me to this town and it's lakes.
The bay's sit dormant like they have for thousands of years utterly in contempt of anything
least of all my desire for them to provide relief from who i am.
Now all there is is the feeling
"only a surfer knows the feeling"
"surfing is life"
"this is who we are"
Training
maybe that will save me
Training
for what I don't know
Maybe the snow.
But I don't like the cold
I bought a skateboard but I'm not 15 anymore.
Hope has disappeared and it feels I should follow the whale's on an anti-trajectory south.
And maybe it is I'm just a slave to Murphy and his law
that the more you believe something can save you from yourself
the less you believe yourself can be saved at all.
I remember what the wise man once said
it's just a bit of fun
nothing more nothing less
The more you hope for the swell to save you from your unbecome
The less you believe that life has anymore complexity than the light does versus the sun.
But it doesn't seem entirely fair
As i sit bobbing around in hope
on a dormant sea
In awe of the Nutri grain man as he goes up the coast searching for nothing
to me.
But to he
we are the chumps
and I can't but even face his gaze
lest he see
I've lost my belief
Close the beach
Code red
I can't even face the sunrise
till the swell returns again.
So I sleep the dawn away wake up and dream of another place
Look in the mirror and know a plane ride is all it takes
But I'm so destitute I can barely afford breakfast
and while flat spells never last
and anger never achieves anything except broken glass
I can't help but be consumed by the red mist.
Maybe this was a mistake
And If mistakes make a man who he is
How can I call myself a surfer
in this surfless town?