you were the last person to dwell underneath my skin
like a rash and you developed a habit of creating back
acne or using my spine as a knife holder, the ridges catch
onto me instead of flowers spreading their roots out and
clinging onto my back like saddles for horses. what kept
me at bay was the mood swings randomization like, "oh,
today may be my lucky day." therefore, i never let myself
consider the dissapointment as an option but the results
varied every time you snuck you way back into the crease
folds of my skin, back through the fresh scars that's been
stinging my skin for over two years now, back into the
year of regrets where the side effects were better than
the apocalyptic aftermath where the blast was better
than the silence. i wonder if you've reached that point
where you believe every cloud loses its silver lining,
and again, i wonder if you wonder about me ever.

- kra

i tend to enjoy my collection of stationary
people who seem to be content with the
concrete architecture they have put forth
effort to collaborate on with(out) me. they have
colossal dreams, set forth for greatness, and
here i am collecting dust and becoming a
money termite. i am walking backwards into
a past that nobody seems to remember. or is
it that nobody wants to? regardless, i move
forth onto your battle grounds where your
castle is a brick too high, a climb too steep,
somewhat collecting dust in the meantime.
do i really wish to remember what kept me
in a stationary position, at the locked door of
your friendship, once a welcome mat, now
i'm overwhelmed with the restraining order
set against me. when i step backwards, i wish
to believe i'm putting two feet forward, but
alas, it's not always the case. lately, i've been
doing more backward steps than forward.
i wonder if it will always be like this, even
if i decided i didn't want to be stationary.

- kra

for starters, i am not the first thing people pick
off the apple tree of the garden of eden. in gym
class, my classmates deemed it appropriate to
pick me last. nobody thought fondly of me.

the serpent deceives me with lies to this day,
my brain a portfolio of snapshots of those dark
memories, almost to make a point about how i
am a loser who deserves to be in last place.

even after experiencing the serpent, i found you,
a lotus flower blooming with purity and created
verses for me to follow along to. you know, those
dark days are always close behind, but you're a
step closer to the light. even when some days i
become spineless, you teach me how to crawl
my way through the strange garden of eden.

at ground level, sometimes i find beauty.
that is also the way how i found you.

- kra

my spine was built out of wood that was
already rotting from carrying the burden
of the world on my shoulders, already
growing mold in between cracks of the
floor boards because somewhere along
the way, i stopped taking care of myself
and focusing on you. maybe that's why
you were the needle, and i was the aired
up balloon filled with radiating hope that
somehow, this feeling applies to you too.
like a rotted out tree, i fell slowly then all
at once into this rut i knew climbing out
of would be a challenge i did not sign up
for. would you call me an invertebrate?
without a sturdy backbone, you could
see i'm already to fall at your ******* whim.

- kra

this understuffed bed in my stomach is capable of containment
because it is a forest of redwood fluttering with bats, slithering
with snakes, and crawling with panthers. it is an expansive house
that is mostly empty, always rented out, people crossing the
threshold of my comfort zone as if the door to my life is a ******* welcome mat, everyone seemingly feigning ignorance to the
existantial crisis in my stomach that is like a world war three.
people ask me why i have anxiety. well, they're the same ones
who cuts down the forest of redwoods and turns the ending
result of the paper into origami, and they watch the way my
skin begins to imprint a crease that stays. they're the same
ones who don't notice that the redwoods are my pillars,
just like how bones and atoms are building blocks. cautiously,
you knocked on the door to my comfort zone, and opened the
door when I allowed you to come in. you are a natural green
thumb, planting trees where others cut them down, mending
the creases in the paper to the best of your ability. you prevented
me from going extinct, from these localized fires becoming forest
fires, and gave life to the empty gray parts of myself.

- kra

do not cover your tracks, for as steady as your body
carries itself, as long as you hide from the inevitable
downfall, you will end up losing your way back home.

with every blanket you own, you covered everyone in
immunity forgetting me, as if i had my own to defend
myself from the sky where debris of planes fell, shrapnel
cutting through air gravitating towards me, the odd one
out. all i had was a flashlight to defend myself, but what
good does that do when you're living in a ghost in repeat?

my mind can't agree with my heart often.

i am a passing glimpse in your windows progressing nowhere
not brave enough to voice myself because the blanket rule covers
me. when you are brave enough to glance at the windows, i hope
you glance at me and remember that the opportunity of finding
your second home lies in my soul. when you remember that, i
hope you end up clashing with me and figure out if you want
to keep me there in your life or not. when i point the flashlight
at you, i hope you are able to forget the shallow blanket rule.

my chest hurts from my heart beating so roughly against my
ribcage but don't blame me for shaking at your very presence
because maybe i'm as scared of god as i'm scared of the devil.

- kra

every memory ends up like a kamikaze airshow,
where they end up hydroplaning on the air in
panic during the most vulnerable moments,
and the crash leaves demolition and a small
indention in the creases of my skin. my pain
is broadcasted to an audience of one, myself.
my name does not end up in the history books
nor does yours, but the pain still broadcasts
itself on the theater screen inside the crown
of my skull. it is like watching a kamikaze
airshow, where the planes are aimed towards
me. i wonder if it's just me in the planes or
if you have many different lives and it's normal
for you to die so many times and not feel pain.

- kra