I want to see chalkdust
made from their skull(s).
beat that(those) thing(s) against the asphalt.

I want to cut open their skin
and pull their muscles out.
Carefully;
slippery-
disgustingly,
like slugs.

I want to make them feel really ******.

You know
because I shouldn't feel bad
unless everyone else feels bad too.

Which I suppose is sort of rude,
and makes me feel a little worse.
but how do I explain to them how I feel
without crying
and going on like,
"you hurt my feelings".

I've sat here and said nothing
for however many years old I am
and I can keep doing it.
But it feels like its time to say something
or do something,
and most times I don't know what to do
but contemplate extinction

I can think of six different girls named Chelsea,
and I think every single one is a beauty

But I ain't never gotten along with someone by the name of Mary.

And they tell me not to judge a book by its cover.
And I mean I can think of a couple a people I met,
Who I didn't like at first glance.
And maybe I just looked at 'em the wrong way,
or maybe they were just having a bad day-
that first time.

But I can tell you,
I've seen plenty of people
and the first thing about 'em that I knew
was that I didn't like 'em.
And it was true.

January brought cold weather, as well as a igloo shaped as home
fabricating a sort of warmth in a desiccated environment, it's a
sandpaper type coarse tip toe around the tacks scattered on the
floor type cold, childishly misplaced and a childish ignorance.
February brought one of the purest primrose flowers out of the
field, stuck in drought drowning in murky waters, covered in
dirt, and i washed away the dirt marks that i recall, was all over
you. It's a sobering feeling to find someone who completes you.
March brought lightning, but clouds shook the strikes away into
Davy Jones locker collected in mason jars, but lightning is not a
controlling virus. It doesn't hide it's burn marks or it's scars left
on vulnerable bodies that are at their tallest height, their peak.
April caused me to be a narcissistic but raucous child, enjoying
the effulgence showered on me, as well as the rain that poured.
This smile was stuck climbing to my ears, and I let life take the
rains as I stayed acquiesce to my worries. When it rains, it pours.
May brought a forest of doubt, growing introverted and placing
dynamite in my path, these mirrors won't show me anything but
the truth, anathema's bile spilled onto the yellow brick road and
I was dragged along for the unfortunate ride constantly mocked.
June was the end of the road and the start of a new and brighter
one, like a window flying open with all of my hopes and dreams
being carried by owls. My algorithm is being solved, one step up
without a tyrant. I'm going to dissociate myself from everyone.
July let the mirage give in, five years of desire to visit arizona
with it's rusty colored mountains and spiky tumbleweeds
sprawling hope back into my lungs that there is bandages
for the wound imprinted on my heart back in soggy April.
August showed me that it smells like burnt hair here, but the
good kind, if it makes sense, with hot air brushing against
my skin twirling with excitement that I've arrived, bringing
a bit of Texas with it. I've never been more happy to see rain.
September introduced me to jets at seven in the morning and
trains at ten, mountains that are almost an optical illusion, like
cardboard standups I could push over, and feelings of a lost friend
brought back after glancing back at my ex best friend of five years.
October was dressing up as my favorite movie character, kids
are quoting the movie as we fill our backpacks with dozens of
candy bars and filling me with the fresh october air and freedom.
Texas never provided that comfort. It's so real and overwhelming.
November was the interlude, 1,000 miles back to Texas brought
melancholy but i unraveled my roots back to the Greyhound,
an akin aching grandmother I brought back to her feet, as well
as got back to my feet when i slammed on my brakes and hit hope.
December brought me slamming my feet back onto the ground
when i left her walking home alone, but it taught me to love hard
and let go when you're given up on, that Christmas is all about
soft piano playing corny songs that are meant to bring you cheer.
Today brought me here.

- kra

the world is a machine built of scorpions and wolves, praying for sleep and
soft lullabies. the wheels and knobs turn endlessly, recklessly howling at the
stars for it's desirable solace, like ghosts stuck on earth preying on others for
revenge for being sentient puppets tangled in the strings, thrashing in their
thoughts, stuck in a everlasting cycle carrying around burdens like a courier
through dense forests and vast wastelands, burning bridges and bibles and
throwing gasoline upon the architectures built up and setting them on fire
but i feel hands of fear at my ankles, pulling me into the restless ocean
with a pulsating ache, wolves howl from the insides of my barren stomach
and making them be quiet is difficult, if duct tape worked, it would help
these knives for fingers cut through anything, but it can't cut through you

- kra

You are dead now
and that is strange to me.
Because you will always be a memory
of my childhood.

Had not seen you for how
long?  
And you were still a memory.

We won't meet for many more years now,

Unless it's as children
fifteen years ago,
and in my mind.

Really what I wanted to say though,
is everything is good.
You were always good.
If you are dead and you're wondering what people thought of you while you were alive.
Here it is in writing.
You were always good.

I only like normal people.
I only like average people.
I like good ****.
I like smoking **** before
Smoking ****.
I like normal people.
I like predictable people.
I like sitting around doing nothing all day
And going to work and watering plants
Because it’s easy.
I like normal people.
I like easy people.
I don’t like the schemers
Or the dreamers
Or anyone in between.

Girls with long hair
Who cut their hair
And have short hair.
And girls who have prettier sisters.
And girls who are prettier than their sisters
But their sisters are smarter
And sometimes they don’t have sisters
And they are just self centered.
But I guess my brothers are smarter and better looking than me
So it doesn’t even make a difference.

"silence is worse; all truths that are kept silent become poisonous.”* ― friedrich nietzsche

like poking the hornet's nest with a stick, you are a rose with stems and thorns so thick,
your skin is protection from oppression, keeping the world out of your private channels
like i'm AM and you're FM all of which are static with distorted voices only science can pry through your enigmatic cacophony on a molecular level, and any evidence of who you are, i couldn't find with years of knowledge, a indestructible ship could speak more evidence about
why it was annihilated, obliterated, disintegrated under the ocean for months at a time without
any current survivors, and the last person i could be described as would be Sherlock Holmes
every detail washes over my head like a flood of details that can't enter because a force field
surround my head like it's a crown being so clueless, but it feels like i'm wearing a dunce hat
and maybe i do realize that there will be a position where you will be put out into light
there is no way out of your mind, like a schizophrenic, if kryptonite killed superman,
can it **** the infectious virus spreading like wildfire through these veins, can you stop
worrying about when you will finally break down and open up to someone?
****

- kra

The worst