in the end, will I have kept the promises I made mostly to myself in the beginning?

if I let go, will I be falling forever or will I just be standing there like a *******, not knowing that the ground was right there under my feet?

or will I fall just far enough for the impact with the ground to be fatal when it rushes up to meet me?

there's a metaphor about water in a draft where I say something about how the water I'm in feels like it's not going to crush me this time

and then I go on to explain that the water is also getting rained on, and it's growing but I can't tell how big the water is or if it's really getting rained on or if it's just in my head

there was a poem that I wrote three years ago about water coming out of me, and maybe that's just the case again and I'm in the water making it grow but I can't tell and it's some kind of optical illusion

maybe I can't tell anything, and I won't

black and white and french grey can’t be put on the same spectrum

depending on who you ask. if you asked me I’d say french grey 

can go somewhere in the middle, but then does the spectrum end in white 

or black?

if two people met who had their black and white at opposite ends of the spectrum,

would they be able to face each other’s darkest parts and meet back at french grey?

or would their french greys end up between the two, and push them back

out of the clouds and into the abyss

cosmogone underneath
hidden bits of shining me
insect legs and plaster of paris
filling little holes where air is
viric statues playing sweetly
solemn melodies rise to meet me
this, my dirge, has long been destined
better dreams were never questioned
into sprawling sunless end
Final rest, I'll now descend

still looming in the middle distance, everything I never became

waits for me to turn around and tempt myself.

my heaviest emotions rise once again to drag me through the mud that I left on the carpet years ago.

shoved through the door into a future favorite memory, and the reason I should have stayed home alone both times or every time.

old muscles sputter back to life and I’m slapped by a reminder that everything that feels good can and will hurt twice as bad.


nothing and no one has ever proved me wrong.