insomnia is my best friend, it's molded into my bones because
the world never sleeps and the bats know me by name. i ripped
the lights out of the sky with the sharp teeth i bear to collect the
stars to stick onto my bedroom ceiling. the sky is a black hole, almost
like a tornado or mouth ready to throw me off my feet, and i'm faint
i can't tell the difference between sympathy, empathy, and apathy
anymore only because i was never good at recognizing faces covered
in masquerade masks. my nightmares aren't about dinosaurs and
aliens anymore, because fantasy is what i've become accustomed to.
reality terrifies me, we are living in our past, our present, and our
future, and my social anxiety is getting bad again to the point where
i lost track of time at night overthinking too much over simple things

- kra

if, somehow, you could see how high & dense your fortified groves has gotten
you wouldn't be asking me why i'm trying to get to you like a giraffe gets to the
leaves in the trees, because your barrier is like barb wire tangled around your
wrists and, almost like a failed lobotomy, you're as mad as a hatter, and the
ribbons that tied us together tightly unwoven it's knot, and i'm so careful in
finding the pieces of worn bricks to tear down and not break you in the process
the fear left me restless, without a doubt, you get helpless after a while and
start believing that sandpaper and silk are similar, but they aren't textured the
same in reality, yet who even really knows what is wrong and what is right?
maybe the puzzle pieces get worn over time and they're not even considered
to be pieces to a puzzle anymore, it's like putting together a falling apart pie

- kra

cherry blossom trees crowded the ladder of my ribs
and the toothpicks that held my chest so gently was
eradicated and fell apart like a house of cards blown
by the sharpness of the wind and i found myself
                                                                                     looking back at myself into the small looking glass
                                                                                     where i found a peace of mind in a strange world
                                                                                     where time does not define you, imagination does
                                                                                     and maybe that's where i belong, human purpose
is so fickle, we are restricted inside this demented
dimension where our mortality is all we know,
where we find ourselves being the pawn in a sea
of kings and queen, where our nightmares consist
                                                                                       of reality, in the mirror, we see an ugly duckling
                                                                                       when we really are swans, basking in the warm
                                                                                       sunlight, where the gears in our heart turn with
                                                                                       out pause, happiness is everlasting in fantasy

- kra

you draw your self hatred out like a kid draws out small pictures
and play double dutch with the hands on a clock, knowing how
unsafe it is out there, flirting with death and flicking me off when
i wrote out the reasons why you should stay, that this autumn fallout
is only a misconstruction of your mind's witching hour, that dystopia
won't linger and utopia will be home soon, it will blossom into your lungs
and turn the simplicity of your broken soul into something completely
quintessential and complex, like an origami rabbit, i fold my sharp edges
and twist myself to be malleable and secure for you, maybe i'm not too certain
of myself or you, but i'm not too certain on a lot of subjects, i'm worried
of being thrown into the arsonist world you started, covering up the sky with
black dense fog, the type of fog that would happen only in dangerous wildfires
i'm a controlled wildfire, but i let my fire spread just to help control your fire

- kra

i am a whirlwind of rain on a hydrophobic world, an angel
of death scraping by like a vulture, picking at skin and bone
and leaving scratches on doors and blood puddles on floors
my blindness is as translucent as a jellyfish's sight, my mind
is shattered, and my memory is coming back slowly, piece by
brittle piece, and the emergency exits are sealed against me
so i travel in concentric circles trying to find a way out of this
labyrinth, only to catch the waters attention and grasp me by
the throat and gag me unconscious, only to see black afterward
i'm living each day through my mistakes, and making up for
it with cold revenge with haphazard patterns, abstract words,
and navigation through uncharted waters where i've drowned
not only everybody else, but myself, in this complete denial

- kra

like backpedaling on a bicycle, after getting my bags and
burning the rest of the kisses you stole from me, you ran
back into me, making my life chaos and showing this ridiculous
front you painted on your face like clown makeup smiling
effortlessly acting like i didn't bleed you out of my veins, like
i didn't train my heart to swear under an oath not to paint you
back into my picture, maybe you know what i'm talking about,
nothing is perfectly in order for me and the tables turn before
i get a chance to come to a realization that the traction between
us is like fingers against a chalkboard, it's back and forth constant
fear of these red strings i can't seem to cut with my safety
scissors as fingers and i am a small miniscule vessel at war with
this violent storm mother nature sheds onto me, coloring
me in blue and black war paint but i will fight back this time
and i will not teeter on the edge and prevent biting my tongue


- kra

people's eyes are like constellations, wherever you go
they will be there during sunlight and sundown,
picking out flaws like they pick out food on menus
finding the crack in the liberty bell, finding Venus de
Milo’s lack of arms, like flowers, we wilt without
rain, and we are so ashamed of being imperfect,
but why do we run from the rain? can we not accept
reality and believe fantasy is a much more powerful
sense of comfort than believe in the bizarre judgement
the earth has provided for us, the most grandeur
hearts are the heavily scarred and bruised, because
what are we without our flaws? we aren't boring.

- kra