there was something strange about us because
when we met for the first time, our worlds were
similar, and by the time you left, you were the
sun and i was the moon. you were this game of
weights, where i must have been too dense for
you to keep holding up for me. but what about
my humanity? is it devoid of being considered
validated by anyone? am i pointless to you? or
a shout into a void? by the time you see this, i
hope i hear your answer before then. by the time
you see me, hopefully i'm sobered up enough to
the point where i don't have you misinterpret
something i say or do. whatever i say seems to
feel like i'm playing a game of weights, where
i am concentrating on weighing the odds in your
favor but it says more about me than about you.
is this a test of our friendship because if so, this
has been going on for longer than i imagined it
would. I DON'T EVEN THINK I'M IMPORTANT
TO YOU ANYMORE. AM I JUST A GHOST IN
THE HALLWAY, A SKELETON IN THE CLOSET,
A MONSTER UNDERNEATH THE BED TO YOU?

- kra

is there a scale that exists, like the richter scale,
that shows how you shake up my world like
a cocktail shaker, where my heart is a liquid
conforming to the shape of the container,
and you stir up a storm inside of me, lock
me up in a cage in the midst of the storm,
and let me stay in here until the wind wears
me down until i am little more than an itch
on your back, an empty ***** bottle, a burnt
out cigarette, a tear on your sleeve, or the
remnants of the candle i lit in hopes of you
seeing the flickering flames inside of my skin
signaling help from the burn out, and now i'm
hoarding piles of dust to find remnants of you
in the ashes. i'm hoarding the rubble from the
earthquake you put my heart through, hoping
to find some flickering flame in the midst of the
chaos. i'd scale this earthquake at a nine, not
exactly pinpointing my pain scale at a ten, but
close enough to destroy everything in it's path.
when i stare at you, i see an earthquake and i
see the hands building foundations. it would
be the biggest honor to have my world shaken
and stirred by your very presence.

- kra

my skin is a plaster made of a silky web cocoon,
and i wonder when i will ever blossom to you.
when will you notice that my blistered palms
are attempting to go through the inflorescent
cycle of turning into chrysanthemums? or am
i going through natural decomposition turning
back into the organic matter i was once before?
to become a butterfly, to lift these chained feet
off the ground and leave to somewhere where
nobody knows my name. i could, perhaps, start
this cycle all over again and succeed. this time,
i could desert everything i know and make a
placebo name and memories to scribble out
the things that made me run for the hills.

- kra

apologies blow into my face like the
cherry blossom trees are shedding their
sakura petals, or like being held at gun
point. honestly, i'm not sure if i should
see apologies as wedding vows or as
benign threats to my existence. the way
i see it, they didn't **** my parents and
that means i don't have to feel empathy
with fictional characters like batman.
then again, i should ask myself if i do
deserve the apology. for the type of
complex character i've developed into,
i realized how self-absorbed i've been,
seeing how i have compressed the
chests of people just like me without
reason. and for that, i apologize.

- kra

~
1. between my bones, my words, the circumference
of my shadow direct to my body, there is a weight,
the chasity belt hanging from my limbs apologetically
as to say, 'this shame lingers longer than your smell.'
2. i enjoy the way you are like blueprints, nobody
has claimed rooms in your house because you
belong to yourself. i bet it's lonely being you.
3. do you see parallel to death like i do? although we
are perpendicular, we only cross once. we don't bend
our backs to glance at each other, and being me, i feel
more like i am forty than twenty one these days.
4. get drunk if she's not there. your muse is more than
a muse. they are a personal matter that should be your
personal matter, not anybody else's. make yourself happy.
5. you smell like ******* LAVENDER LIKE A SCENT
ONE DIRECTION CAME OUT WITH AND I AM VERY
ASHAMED TO SAY IT, BUT I ENJOY THE DUMB SMELL.
6. you are split second decisions, camera flashes, a car
crash, an impulse that cannot be shaken by force. you
are more kinetic energy than potential energy.
7. turn me into trash because you create art from it.
8. you are the chaser drink after a ***** shot, and
also the ***** shot. i don't understand it either.
9. time is definitely not on my side, but the tragedy
seems to be on my side constantly. fall out boy should
name a song after my indefinite existantial crisis.
10. metaphors are annoying, like bribing you to be
friends with me for some stupid pissy reason like
seeing you smile, you know, something dumb like that.

- kra

five years ago, when we met, you reminded me
of vanilla milk. without all the artificial chocolate,
you were an unpretentious, simple, clean slate. to
let you slither down my throat was a facile task.

today, i have to worry about you in the way i have
to watch what i eat, to make sure it doesn't have
milk in it because of my lactose intolerance. i've
been without you so long, taking you back into
my system again is like trying to shove toothpaste
back into it's bottle, it's nonviable and useless.
milk has become my worst enemy, and i've grown
fond of the taste of chocolate over vanilla. and to
let you slither down my throat again proved difficult
because it was like asking someone with asthma to
run a mile without an inhaler. i've had to take special
precautions worrying about you, even though the
things that bother me now, shouldn't matter. and
this way, i've grown accustomed to drinking soy milk.
it is a substitute that gets the taste of the bile, of the words
i am desperate to say to your face, out of my mouth.

- kra

this homecoming seems to bring me sadness
because this is is just a transit point watering
a garden that's been wilted for months. yet,
this heart denies that's the case. time is not
on my side, yet this tragedy seems to always
hover in the quiet stirring between nature's
soft songs. this plague seems to follow me
like a rain cloud, hang on me like a trench
coat, threaten me like a criminal, and my
problem? i'm passive to letting it hover
over every decision i make. to pass this
over to you, this guilt weighing on me,
would mean losing all the chips i threw
into this card game. do me a favor, forget
about me. please forget what i said.

- kra