She woke in Oblivion...
Torn to pieces from ages of war, such that was required..

Oblivion was created to hold darkness...

She collected remnants of her scattered soul, wove them together with golden threads.  They where the last remaining parts of her that remained pure...

Chard and bound she rose through the ashes.  Her gold sparkling in the darkness refected where she stood...

Oblivion

She could see the Mecury Sea, familiar to her only through the truths of creation...

Her eyes had been removed and only in her mind did she see him.  His sad lonely silhouette, stood in contrast to the gleaming waves...

Her cold heart hung in her shattered ribs, began to beat.  She knew him...

"Is it he I came here for?" The thought echoed life into Oblivion.

He saw her, and in fear fled into the sea...

In Oblivion echoes don't return, and he again was lost to the world...

She pulled her armor, her weapons and those who she found, and again the God of War rose....

Falling upside down, she rose in ashes of volcanos... Her heart ablaze, deep within a single ash, only required the breath of love to ignite her...

The ashes of her darkness blew off in the passion of love and only gold threads remained.  Remnants of her earthly self called to the spirit and she began to collect herself piece by
piece.  

The Gods had won the war against darkness long long ago, because of her, but her own darkness threatened creation. In a trick, such that gods know she was lured by beauty and torn into pieces.  Diminished and desolved she was spread across Oblivion.

In the time of reconciliation and rebirth she rose to bring back the lost...

He was the last warrior to be collected, as all of the legion would be required to collapse Oblivion...

He still remains there, lost in the Mercury Sea... She would leave none, and when whole will return to set to sea for one last soul...

"Pass me to the light of day, Son."

In last moments of this life, with all farewells, salutations and redemptions resolved...

I would tell my son, look for me in dawn... I have told god, let me live the next lifetime as dawn, 24 hours... I want to see and touch it all...

today, i hired a night guard for
these night terrors are starting
to interrupt my waking hours.

they are chameleons that look
exactly like you and talk like
you but they are not you.

i still let those creatures in, yet
i do not know what lies under
that fleeting smile of yours.

your smile is a dandelion that
plucks itself off from the stem
and follows the zephyrs.

you do not come find me
and you do not come follow me.

it's as if you are in traffic on
a one way road, and turning
around for me isn't an option.

- kra

there is the first type of quiet we both know: the
comfortable quiet where we are enjoying the
others company, and the only noise in the room
is the faint sounds of us taking turns breathing.

then there's the second type that you experience
when you are on an elevator with a stranger who
peers over at you as the floors rise. it's the most
uncomfortable quiet that fills the air like smoke.

we are only acquaintances to the last type of quiet:
the type where you finally understood the pain that
i've been going through. you saw right through me.

"i don't want to make friends here anymore because
like you said, i need to put my priorities first. i'm
leaving and maybe i won't come back, maybe i will,
but all i care about is your happiness, even if it isn't
with me. you have two amazing people in your life,
keep them close because someday, they will be gone."

- kra

the doors are open. there is something you have that
i need. i've been driving since march, taking the
longest route. whenever you get to your final
destination, you're expecting to get exactly
what you drove through heavy rain or
blinding sunlight for. turns out, the shorter
route could have gotten me closer to getting
what i came there for. all of you is taken from
me. there is nothing left for me. the doors are shut.

- kra

meeting you was like brushing shoulders with
god – once i turned around to catch a glimpse
of you, i realized it would take a requested but
granted miracle for us to intersect. they say in
euclid geometry that two parallel lines will
never touch despite the fact that they lie on the
same plane going in the same direction. as long
as that plane kept us interconnected, i thought it
would be okay to let you speak words of
resurrection to me. as long as the roses inside my
chest continue to blossom and as long as you
continue to help pluck off all the overgrowth of
thorns, i thought it would be okay to let you see
me for the beast that lies under my beauty. it feels
like i’m getting closer to the truth, but further
from the one that i’ve been looking for. the big
picture looks a lot like manifest destiny collided
with continental drift.

there is something called the bermuda triangle.
this is not to be mistaken as a metaphor for an
unrequited love triangle. a significant number
of aircraft and ships have mysteriously vanished
from thin air, so they have made a name specifically
for the catastrophic triangular death sentence
phenomenon that lies out in the north atlantic
ocean. i think of myself as the one aircraft that
plummeted into the waters early. despite how
long i’ve been flying this aircraft, it’s the turbulence
that puts me at risk for something like this. i didn’t
know being one of many parallel lines would have
a death sentence. mother nature is laughing at me
as i sink, because i’ve forgotten how to swim.

i’ve become a part of the empty space on the plane
filling in that void until you eventually collided
with a perpendicular line changing your direction.
parallel lines don’t get the satisfaction of ever
crossing into each other. they are always at arms
distance. close enough to touch, but not close enough
to feel the ghost of their breath on our cheeks. we’ve
acknowledged that the other exists, but not the fact
that we could divert from our paths towards each
other. loving you was a learning experience. it was
learning that i shouldn't swim into deep waters, but
i shouldn't stand in a three foot pool. this is why i want
to know if there is such a thing as non-euclidian
geometry, if there is hope for us parallel lines that
will never collide with our soulmates.

- kra

to fall for someone means catching them, right?
like holden caulfield pictured it, there should
logically be someone who can catch the kids who
start to go over the cliff if they’re not paying
attention to where they’re going metaphorically.
however, the rules of love does not play fair.
a lot of times, the catcher in the rye becomes
a phantom limb. everything is disillusioned
and phony, don't let the world try to trick you.

then what kind of ******* am i pushing when
i'm pushing myself towards the cliff? do i
kiss you out of loneliness? do i miss love?

don't let the absence swallow you, or you'll
be riding for a fall—it’s a special kind of fall,
a horrible kind. i'm not permitted to feel or
hear myself hit bottom. i just keep falling
and falling. the moment i turned towards
the cliff, i was letting you crawl into my skin,
and you infected me like a plague so fast
that i could see my vision get blurry from
the sides from running towards that cliff.

all i know is i’m one of the kids in the field
of rye sprinting towards the edge of the cliff
with open eyes hoping the catcher in the rye
will rope his arm around my stomach before
i plummet. the fall i think i’m riding for - it’s
a special kind of fall, a horrible kind. i’m not
permitted to feel or hear myself hit the bottom.
i just keep falling and falling until the catcher
helps me get back onto my feet, however, i can
not pitch the ball and catch it too.

- kra

he calls me siren
and my brain automatically processes,
“luring people to an imminent death.”
after explaining the definition of a siren,
the man redacted his comment,
apologizes,
going on to explain it’s the way
i am alluring as if that can take
back the moment my ex’s point
a ended up in a girl’s point b.

as if trying to sink my head below
the waves every night couldn’t feed
that animalistic appetite of his.

he calls me siren,
and i can’t help but think
about how draining it feels like
to have the aspiration to sing
but the fear of having to count
my casualties like sheep during
the night. like pills during the day.

we practice open mouth kissing
like you’re eating my words. we
embrace, and it feels like constriction.

i am a siren,
i lure people in wearing a chastity belt
and expect the ship not to sink. most of
these ships are pirate ships - there is
nothing pure about their intentions of
stealing my gold.

we romanticize the flames
as pure light
the choruses
as church hymns
until we are digging sailor’s graves
and watching the flames go out.

i am a siren, and i have not dared
to open my mouth lest i will bring death.

You're gone.
And I have to learn to live with that.
You found what it is you've been looking for.
You're happy.
And you're gone.
Gone and happy.
A wake of loneliness trails behind you.
I used to have someone to talk to.
Someone who would sometimes read my ****.
I told her to go.
I didn't think she'd disappear.
It hurts.
So I drink.
It doesn't make the pain go away.
I just temporarily forget why I'm hurting.