Kymoo

I could throw rocks at vexation but, in actuality I know where I'm at. Of course I'll only breathe smoke and not mention a simple word, maybe essential words, because of those bites. That biting exclaiming you'll think it's all for recognition when it's really all just dissolving me away. I can't explain it, I won't adjust in tune. Only static can warp it into swirls and twirl it around good enough to even mention that I think I'm sick. Thinking isn't substance though. Thinking too much only overwhelms me with rocks that might not be there, but for some reason or another I see them, I clutch them, and my one defense is rimming my lips wit

My head whirls down, back in front of moving pictures from the clouds, To witness the momentarily motionless, A fallen work of art, a lost tragedy to crash, but I never was all that great When it came to entangling what circumstance would foreshadow. Then from that one blast, I could only inch myself Against our jagged walls and through the screen. With a single whimper, then rocketing into distress, withholding in fabric And counting threads until your voice says it's okay.

It's within this uniform box where sometimes We're weightless, but not wonderful, And can't plant our feet on the ground. Where we're sick of thriving but, can't extract it From our world, so we'll run around, raindrops Colliding with our socks and wander…dance right into holes To interrupt earthworms on break, a time when a crack In the sidewalk or a lingering bird won't define personal hysteria. Skipping all this alone, I can almost breathe, But then, its those lingering birds. They're infecting And transitioning to mimic history, intended to ignite on its own. It's then through mirrors, the crystals start falling from our e

With all I that I breathe yet I'm still hanging off to the side, At a tilt on the Earth's axis And I don't know what to read from it. I could be dangling in unmarked territory, Or in the wrong time and place. Or the nausea daily quaking my abdomen Is something serious, And has gone to my sense of balance. If something however is striving to take it all down, Where's the thud and why can't we apprehend it? Do we keep listening, Or keep transpiring?

Dude, I suck at writing.

Keep me from falling too soon, Or if I fall too soon, Come pick me back up. Come any second Of any minute. Come with an extended hand, Show up with your arms opened. Speak my name. Let me know that you want to help, And I'll let you. Tell me I'm making a fool of myself And to quit messing around. Or tell Me it's lonely up there, Without me. Then that's it. Maybe, maybe not. You could fall with me And realize it's what you have wanted. You could collapse next to me. Tell me I'm not crazy. Convince me as well, You know it's true, And you know it's your new job.

Can I laugh and cry all at once, Just to put it all behind me? I mean, they're both here anyway… Or could I say it? Like exclaim it, really loud, screaming loud, Just so I know you got it, Because I realize this is kind of sudden? I haven't exactly processed everything, So can I reserve a minute, For when ready, or prompted, or never mind?

A couple of guitars, leaning against her jewels, Surrounded by VHS tapes and DVDs, Played on a time before flat screens. Books of all sorts, comics, novels, and note, Are propped up on variations of random, collected, Sentimental past times, so not to touch Or be laid exposed and vulnerable Across the tasteless green carpet. A hula-hoop's on standby, Held behind records, below CDs, But above water bottles, there when needed, All overlooked by Bugs Bunny and a single collage, Never finished and never failing.

I live in a box of paint, a monstrous box of paint actually. A box half filled, a pool with piers surrounding the edges. No brushes, no pallet, no jars of water. Just paint, and the white of the box is where I will work. With my hands, feet, head, body, everything, I will create life that embodies chaos, misery, happiness, comedy, tragedy, atrociousness, beauty, all that's optional in this universe of ours, I can do. Rolling my jeans up and kicking off my shoes in a determined fit, I take my first steps, wade my feet, stir the paint. Run a few laps all around with footprints of any color featured in a rainbow trailing behind. Slam each foot