to watch myself shrink down small enough to enter
into the crack of your doorway made me realize a
lot about how i stretched myself out just to have
memories that were almost phantasmagoric. the
beauty naturally made way for the beast, letting the
claws grip her by the throat. it was almost like wild
flowers shedding their petals for winter. it wasn't
a choice to place myself behind the barrel of the gun.
it was a matter of being a martyr, just to live with
something to believe in. now that i think about it,
the signs were all there. the gut feeling of uncertainty
always sat in my stomach uncomfortably even when
i sat her down, told her how important i saw her, and
she lied straight to my ******* face. it was a matter of
not seeing what was always there behind the scenes.
when i met you, i had that same phantasmagoric
feeling about you. not for one second have i ever
doubted you, nor have i doubted every single time
i got to see you. that was the big difference. i've
been reaching for things that are dead for so long,
i've forgotten how to be alive. thanks for being a
teacher of sorts, to teach me how to live again.

there's a reason why our magnetic fields have become so distant
it wasn't because the trigger was pressed too hard against my soft
temple, it was written in the stars that change is the only constant
and hope is only for beginners and i've been dipped too far into
the creasefolds of your fragile complexity of the book you're busy
writing, and i know you want to rip me out of those pages, i am
the aftermath of a broken shield that i didn't know was ripe enough
for others to dig into, but i can never get you completely out of my system,
like a hidden computer virus that i never really meant to obtain, it just
all started almost like a big bang, with a shotgun mouth and these weak
limbs that pulls it's own weight, i didn't mean to push my luck so far

they consider this constellation the closest one to
earth, easily able to be seen by the naked eye. it
illuminates vividly, a composition of splattered
hot blue on a black canvas. or to our eyes, white.

the first time i noticed the star cluster, my eyes
started to unconsciously look for it every night.
when i first looked through a lens to view that
constellation, it surprised me that it wasn't white
stars after all. in fact, it was a deep ocean blue.

that's why you can't tell me that i'm like the sun
because even though i shine visibly and keep you
warm, my touch is white hot. it's safer if i can see
you and know you're safe, rather than touch you.

- kra

we share saliva like secrets between friends,
taste each other like the appetizers before the main course,
**** frantically like rabbits, and the lights still stay off when
we make love.
it’s not until
her name
spills
from your tongue as we make love &
i have cottonmouth.
you don’t apologize either.

i write love songs for you in the sand, but high tide
always dissolves my words by sunrise. the hazy sunlight
floats through the early morning window, and the ghosts
invite themselves into my home and inside my head. i
have to ask, is it love if I take you, or is it love if I set you
free? my words become meaningless if my mouth can’t
keep up with your insatiable animal instinct. is this
the only way i can separate you from calling me a
friend, by separating my legs?

you hold me on wires by my spine like i'm a puppet and you're the puppeteer,
the wires dancing out of orbit as similar as power lines wrestling a storm or
electrons that are never at a certain point at any time. your misaccuracy
reminds me of a pinpoint on a map because it never touches the destination
on point, and i absorb the attention you provide like polymer gel ***** with
water, but you are the most unstable puppeteer i've ever known, smiling
through smoke and blindfolding me covering me in black and blue camoflauge
throwing me in the fire, drowning me in the deep depths of the ocean,
and laughing as i sink in denial and crave the inevitable let down

- kra

my job was to purify the zones, full of spectres and creatures
grotesque in appearance. it was my goal to stabilize the rocky
ambience and translate the cuneiform inscriptions scratched
into the walls to maybe understand how to get this situation
into a chokehold. once walls full of color, i came back to a black
and white slate. loving someone - i realized - shouldn't have
been a purification process. but as the first of four elements,
it's an important element. because without love, people could
lose their will to exist and self-terminate.

once, i told you i was scared of the dark,
and you promised me, for now on,
there would be no more darkness.

it all went wrong. i must forget about it and dream sweet dreams.
it was what you would have wanted for me. you wanted me to
see the world in color, but all i could see was the bloodshed.
hence nothing remains except for my regrets.

i think about all the insurmountable times i have
watched myself shave off the bark of my skin
to watch others thrive and blossom violently like
wildflowers and chrysanthemums. i think of how
you have always been a tree – tall, mighty, powerful
- with roots that don't seem to make mine feel like
weeds. teach me, for i aspire to be luminous, tree.
i dream of worlds made of jasmine and honeysuckle,
of utopias devoid of the bark i've shaved off my back.
i dream of sap that feels a little less like magma and
a lot more like maple syrup. i dream of roots that
doesn't feel like granite and completely calcified.
teach me, for i aspire to be luminous, tree.

redemption is not found at the bottom of
the ocean, as i have found out. all i know
of is lungs filling with watered down
metaphors that compress my chest. the
way panic attacks works is similar to it.

i have not found redemption in anything
because i thought you were some type of
celestial being sent down to me. maybe i
assumed you were god, but i didn't expect
you to flood the earth and forget about me.

you let me drown out of self defense.

i found more comfort in the white walls i
surround myself with on a daily basis because
without you, i have nothing. i have found more
comfort from people thousands of miles away
in a minute than comfort you can give me in a
month. i have accepted redemption will probably
never arrive, so i have attached myself onto her.

she is the one thing i have left as a sister, and i
would be more honored to lose her than you
anyway. i'm sorry if you are not finding any
redemption yourself, but at this point, i will
find redemption in someone more stable.

you are unstable, and i never wanted this.

- kra

between the discovery of us and this moment,
a grotto was slowly building itself inside of your
ribcage. you told me you liked how i tickled the
inside of your stomach, and eventually you woke
up complaining about how my sharp fingernails
were scraping against your rough dry skin like
a chalkboard. from time to time, i feel her ghost
move in me like an unborn child thrashing in the
womb. her name alone impales this body like a
sharp kitchen knife into my stomach. that's why
i tremble at the mere thought of her voice: it is
like a fish hook with bait on the end. if i am god,
i am a forgiving god, but my hands tremble too
much even when i fervently show compassion.
my hands are not very careful with delicate things.

- kra

he said, "tell me about your history"
because he knew i loved history
and how the chronological events
turned into a collection of memories.
what i wish i was told was that
some parts of history was blacked
out; redacted; forgotten; thrown
aside; history doesn't always tell
you the truth, so who are we to
believe in false prophets?

when i told him about my history, he
believed i would succumb to the past
just like everyone before him.

the past is not the present
the present is not the past
i tried to make him remember
but i forgot my past trying to
make him recall the present and
that's the thing about history.

you can't undo history, which
could be the beauty and curse
of living. history is the ghost
of my past, visiting me before
sleep, showing me how much
more beautiful the world would
be if i joined the nonexistant entity.

i believe in the propaganda of the
ghosts telling me i'm better off
becoming a part of history.

as an astronaut, I spun on a rotary around the core of your existence like
you were the gravity that held me to the ground but kept me on my toes
if home is where the heart is, i'm coping with this unbearable homesickness
and I know my heart has an anarchy government, living a steel toed rebellion
but these relentless thoughts about you have gotten bad again, i don't sleep
my reckless behavior let loose, like a dog off his chain and collar and i
revisited the places you always talked about, how i dreamed to be there
with you recovering those lost feelings, and rebellion was assisting me
in the mind of my teenage angst, no autobiographies could be more
authentic than the hatred for this unrequited swelling i held in my heart
without a doubt, you're featured in my dreams more than nightmares
you couldn't be more real than the books that I hold in my hands
i'm sleeping in water filled with sharks calling me a tedious terrorist
entering their territory, leaving me with absolutely nothing
just build a bridge, get over it, if you have to, revisit my mind
maybe you'll see everyone is the enemy, not everyone is perfect

-kra

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

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

this house is a cage for the deceitful lovers
and a loony bin for the normal. to call this
a shelter, protecting and comfortable, is
laughable. this house was made out of
all skin and no bone. the notion of losing
yourself to these white lies, to see yourself
put on a face unfamiliar, is a tragedy. i found
skeletons in the closets and blood coming out
of the bathroom sink faucets. i found black
widows underneath mattresses, scorpions hiding
between folds of the covers i sleep on. to feel
the opposite of reassuring in what plays itself
to be a warm house, is terrifying. i plan on
turning white, becoming the very lies so they
become true. the destiny of my lies built a
house of sand, and i’m being slowly swallowed
whole by the sands. i hide behind eight masks,
all to cover up my seven deadly sins. there is
unrest in this house. a monster lives here, i see
the blood everywhere i look and the scratch marks.
why does the monster only attack me and leave
more unnecessary scars? why does he make a
home in this house, put on my face, and walks
around like the floorboards aren’t the same quick
sand that dragged him into its grasp?

- kra

when i think of you, i think of the saw movies
and how someone had to die to save another
person's life. i guess i was the martyr and you
were the last remaining survivor, miraculously
unharmed. i wonder if you ever thought about
being a martyr, but from the looks of it, i'm sure
you were more than happy with throwing me into
the line of fire than helping me escape this place.

- kra

i used to associate screwdrivers with the tools
my father regularly brought with him on his belt
to work, and now that i have tasted a screwdriver
and the aftertaste of you lingers after every huge
swallow, i want to drink until inch by every inch
of my body can feel something remotely far from
where you are. i want to associate screwdrivers
with tools, as a woman, i may use maybe once
or twice, but never as a drink. i really hope i get
drunk today because i'm not seeing my muse.
ever again. the tectonic plates underneath my feet
have shifted and i'm not able to stand on my own
anymore. how i only wish i could say that i'm
suffering and being miserable all for you.

- kra

every ***** and deadbolt securely fastened in
my chest was unlatched, unscrewed, unfastened,
like a brassiere, yet it was also captivated by you.
for so long, i was simply a crane building towers
around me but you saw more use in me. turns
out, that use was also used to manipulate my
inner chords. no matter how long it took me to
write the musical notes, the harmony i once knew
was becoming weaker and weaker. at the time, i
should have known there was only static noise.
there was only brick walls and towers, only screws
and deadbolts securely fastened to your chest, only
a harmony i can't find the right notes to hit.

- kra

over 95% of the ocean has been undiscovered, and
i wonder if i'm the only one who is so curious to
see the unknown depths where sea creatures adapt
and confine to the dark, it is a wonder that they
have not had any second thoughts about the sunlight.
i wonder if i'm the only one who is so curious to get
into the minds of these creatures, who are so afraid
of the light as i am. maybe they're not afraid at all.
maybe they have grown accustomed to the darkness.
perhaps it's a way to hide and shelter from the predators
so the most vulnerable do not become the prey as i have.
i wonder if i was destined to be the sun and yourself
the ocean, the world's biggest juxtaposition. maybe i
wasn't careful with my high and mighty position up
there on cloud nine and abused it, because all i do is
reach for the safety of your ocean, and wish for the
calm waters to envelope the parts of me that just
leaves third degree burns and people rubbing aloe
vera onto their skin. when i reached down to grab you,
the waters in the ocean shifted vehemently, and the sea
animals concaved into the darkness of the waters i may
never get to touch. over 95% of the ocean hasn't been
discovered, and i know only 5% of what the ocean
has to offer. over time, you have become a close
relative to this metaphor. i've went from discovering
95% of your brain patterns to only 5%. i am merely a
whirlwind of rain in your hydrophobic world, and
all i want to do is be your umbrella even if the rain
is acidic and burns me the way i burn everyone
else and leave people rubbing aloe vera onto their
skin. to this day, i have navigated only 5% of your
uncharted waters, and some days i want to swim
further down and risk swimming in the same sea
with the sharks just to figure out the type of person
you are. that's what being friends with you now feels like.

- kra

in my dreams, I found your voice whispering my name
it was so quiet, just like you, throwing your secrets in the grave
silent euphoria covering the tension in my muscles and veins
releasing the strenuous stress, but my blood still runs white
white sunlight running through me and my thoughts run to you
it's like an natural instinct, a second skin, a cause to the effect
you peer into my windows and the realization why was a slap in the face
ironic because I fell into the same guilty pleasure that you did
your spring and summer lasted me a few years, but winter came
love hibernated back into it's cave, built it's castle and lava moat
haphazardly scattered ghost starve in the back of an abandoned alley
looking for a map out of this godforsaken eath but they can't leave
not without a sign pointing them in the right direction, but i always turn left
it's like we were related by blood, but our blood learned to squander
my fingertips shake violently, do you realize how badly i need you
anxiety was taking every inch of my body and collapsing my lungs
i'm searching for a needle in a haystack and it's been found already
i'm looking for a key to the locked door but my hands are empty
i'm peering through an opening to find any source of hope for us
and i come up empty every single time.

-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

the only times i tried to sink was into the ocean of
your head and climb the trees of your branches and
remember every hole made by woodpeckers, every
crease in your body like origami, every complex
part of you that i knew, i would never be able to grasp
2. my body is a guillotine, and you're in my chokehold
3. if i could explain how warped and unpredictable
my head can get, you would think i needed rehabilitation,
but i don't need rehab, i need you and since you're never
around, i feel myself draining and breaking apart again
4. if you're a book, why do you seem to abruptly
stop in midsentences? and why am i so eager for
the cliffhanger to continue?
5. you make me wanna puke until my lungs give
out but why did i wake up at three am crying
tears of joy at the simple fact that you want to
see me again after everything that's happened?
6. i would break the waves in half to bring you
back from drowning in your self hatred, bring
back the old you, and throw out the new you
7. i am not typical, i am original, so don't treat
me like i'm everyone else you meet.

- kra

jaws of sharks meet together
when you are the bait

- kra

he calls me siren
and my brain automatically processes,
“luring people to an imminent death.”
after explaining the definition of a siren,
the man redacted his comment,
apologizes,
going on to explain it’s the way
i am alluring as if that can take
back the moment my ex’s point
a ended up in a girl’s point b.

as if trying to sink my head below
the waves every night couldn’t feed
that animalistic appetite of his.

he calls me siren,
and i can’t help but think
about how draining it feels like
to have the aspiration to sing
but the fear of having to count
my casualties like sheep during
the night. like pills during the day.

we practice open mouth kissing
like you’re eating my words. we
embrace, and it feels like constriction.

i am a siren,
i lure people in wearing a chastity belt
and expect the ship not to sink. most of
these ships are pirate ships - there is
nothing pure about their intentions of
stealing my gold.

we romanticize the flames
as pure light
the choruses
as church hymns
until we are digging sailor’s graves
and watching the flames go out.

i am a siren, and i have not dared
to open my mouth lest i will bring death.

three words and eight letters fell in between the cracks
of your fingers like sand, not even realizing you were holding
my heart somewhere in there as it conjoined with the earth
my stem grew sixteen feet in all directions and grew sixteen feet
tall, with branches that holds photographs of memories i've
forgotten about already, like waters that don't cease with
waves that drag you under like hands at your ankles
but people don't drag you down, our past drags us down
the darkness isn't full of nightmares but it's not so clean either
we were not careful enough, i thought we couldn't sink in dangerous
water but the past dragged you down the depths and shallows of it's
cold grotto. i wish i had a sixth sense perception, become a wallflower,
a housefly, eyes watching from the very corners of their eyes, visible
enough to remind you, i exist. i am very real and i am finally starting
to shake off the waves and grime and shout through my words.

- kra

the title best friends probably
doesn't mean anything
to you. - kra

to own the parallel structure of your house, i would
have to peel my own floorboards back, tear them off
like day old bandaids, and install plain oatmeal colored
tiles to lose the meaning of myself. i would restructure
the blueprints of the hallow home of my chest, and leave
no room for any florescent lights. the darkness can’t dim
the fact that i am brimming with regrets and questions
that are quickly turning rotten. the answers are losing their
meaning. coming face to face with the wolf, the dread i
used to get as the sheep, it’s losing its meaning. when
i repainted myself, there were still parts of you lying
around like loose hairpins, but i’m leaving no room
for the loose hairpins. the fear i had turning on the
florescent lights, of seeing my hands painted red
with blood i didn’t know i spilled, was becoming
a learning experience. all this time, i've been seeing
you in my ideal vision: sturdy like steel beams, but
there has always been that marshmallows and tooth
pick-like foundation you've been keeping up around
me. i can't see you as parallel structures anymore. look
at me. did you ever actually look at me without disgust
of the blood i spilled, and tell me things with honesty?

we imagined our bodies were continents but my
continent became an never ending earthquake,
trembling until it tears through the exoskeleton
of my body. the earthquake was panic attacks. i
learned to interact with them so i could see it coming.
i learned to appreciate the homes i destroyed, and
i helped you clean up the rubble after i obliterated you.
architect of sadness: you built an expansive house
that's always empty and chilly. you let the prettiest
flowers wilt and die. your bright colors coating your
exterior shows promise and sentiments, but even the
ones who walk through your doors notices the absence.
it's always too late to sever ties when you are given the
keys. your voice is like the dinner bell, ringing through
the west and east hallways and haunting these walls. we
were two different worlds clashed together like the big
bang, we were pangaea, a super continent exploding with
content and then continential drift split us open. somewhere
along the line, you became australia and myself the united
states, where swimming to you became an impossible
task. even at the end of it all, i asked for the keys to
enter inside the same house holding empty promises
and a foundation i knew was built from the hands of an
amateur architect. is that what love is? walking into the
scorch of hell's fire because you're willing to deal with
the permanent third degree burns and scars the fire will
leave on you? because that's how i know i love(d) you.

- 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

somewhere, i heard that there's two days in your life
where you don't get to live twenty four hours, but isn't
that a little biased? what about the days where i had to
remind myself that you weren't coming back? because
i had recited a poem during grief and loss poetry, and
it was more loss of self and grief of self. maybe my body
is still connected to this earth, but my soul is dead. my
muse, or my idea of one, turned to ashes. every picture
of her was still life art, of things living, but that picture
of us is still dead even to this day. and on that note, i hope
you're happy now, you miserable *******.

- kra

without hesitation, i asked everyone
in the room a lighthearted question.
"you know who my best friend is?"
in the same breath, you spit out
"me." what surprised me the most
was that you didn't even think about
the question. it came naturally to you,
like how most things come. at that
moment, my spirit left my body all
in the matter of the seconds between
your reply and my initial reaction.
my soul traveled to the times we were happy,
telling each other secrets and keeping those
promises that we swore under oath. the
dreams we had about each other would
always be good dreams, not nightmares.
as much as i'd like to admit that there is
still something there, that i will be able to
call you my sister & my best friend again,
i had to be honest. i was never honest
to you and that's how i lost you. there
was nothing i could do to take back the
"no" that rolled off my tongue like an
avalanche or a confession to a holy
priest and between me and god, you
are the closest i've gotten to god. the
back burner you left me on has left
third degree burns but isn't dying a
martyr to you the best way to go?
or would you be the one to turn the
other way if i challenged death?

- kra

the story always starts and ends with
the same exact thing: barriers.

the welcoming mat wasn't always
so unwelcoming. the public used to
walk into the doors of your soul,
peer in and examine you, and
if they liked it there, they would
rent out a part of you and you
would be the determining factor
if you should keep them there.

so it wasn't a surprise that maybe
i overstayed past my rent date
and never paid the bills because
i believed maybe, just maybe,
i didn't have to pay because i
was one of your favorite tenants.

now it's like the doorway to your
friendship is behind barriers of
broken trust. i am only invited
into your home as a peace treaty,
never as a favorite tenant.

the fact i have to scale down my
existence, which isn't exactly big
in the first place, to make you
happy infuriates me.

i will cross a ******* ocean, and
with every kick against the angry
waves, i hope you will see with
each tiring kick that i am restless

each time 11:11 hits, i wish for
you to, at least, be friends with
me again, and i still don't
believe in the 11:11 *******.

i just do it anyway hoping someday
i won't have to pay rent or abide by
a ******* peace treaty to live within you.

- kra

"you symbolize living here, and that's why some
days i miss you more than others. some days, i
can forget about you. mostly, it's next to impossible."

then again, chasing you felt like racing to the hospital.
as the odometer rose, the pain inside my chest only
grew from moderate to severe. the safe haven was
the hospital room where you would stabilize and
make your patients feel better. the car was going
eighty five in a sixty line. no matter how far we got,
it seemed like the cops were at every corner waiting.

the speeding tickets would only hold me back for
so long until the pain would become something
only a legendary warrior of battle could ignore.

and when i finally got to the hospital, no patients
were getting let in. i'm still in the waiting room
where the pain is next to impossible to ignore.

you symbolize this hospital room. this is what
i waited for to ease my pain, but at what cost
when i got a lollipop and a smiley face sticker
for my speeding tickets and the unbearable wait?

- kra

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

how you defined me is extinct in the wild.
i'm still not sure if you meant that i am the
last of my kind or if i was the only thing you
had left to swallow and with distaste you spit
me out like i was dish washing soap slathered
onto your tongue. even though you were right,
that i am all i will have left in the end, i still
never saw you look upon me like i was special
just because i am going extinct, one day at a time.

- kra

the pH in my stomach has plummeted
to an all time low. as a defense mechanism,
my stomach clenches.
2. my jaw is extremely sore from grinding
my teeth while i was sleeping (and having
the regular nightmares.)
3. sometimes, my joints decide to act like they
are eighty years old instead of twenty.
4. that's what i get for burying the acidity of
the self loathing.
5. now i am a pinata except i'm hallow.

when immobile, the butterfly looks like a fall leaf
like an incoming winter killing the trees,
laying to rest the foliage,
however
when in flight, everyone can distinguish it's
vibrant colors that makes it beautiful.
whenever you're stagnant, you only see
the ugly side of yourself. when in flight,
you see what makes you worthwhile.

when i'm sitting in a cheap plastic chair, trying to
explain to the doctor how bad the pain feels on a
scale of one through ten, i will tell him that it is a
nine. i have experienced what a ten feels like.
1. ten is when you told me to *******, to go ahead
and **** myself because nobody could miss me.
2. ten is having someone you love convince you
that you are only a hurricane, tearing everything
down into rubble and obliterating everything.
3. ten is believing that i am a hurricane, i am a
tsunami, i am a wildfire, i am a natural disaster
4. ten is seeing a part of you in every part of my
small society. you are an omnipresent spirit that
tends to enjoy haunting my nightmares.
5. ten is seeing you happy without me.
and the worst part is, doctors are only able to do
so much right now. all they can do is numb me
out with percocet and hear me talk about how
i miss the way you smiled because of me and
how i don't do enough to make you happy.

- kra

you wonder. you wonder why i stuck syringes
in my arms where you left bite marks. only you
wonder why i've created a mess that is bigger
than life and why i have destroyed the things
you used to love. you wonder why i hate you.
IF CURIOSITY KILLED THE CAT, YOU ARE
A COLD BLOODED ANIMAL KILLER.
never did i get a chance to let my tongue spill
words unspoken over you like wine and watch
you swallow it and talk about how bitter it tastes
IT'S BECAUSE I'VE WATCHED THOSE WORDS
SINK INTO MY EARS AND GO DOWN THE
DRAIN OF MY HEAD AND FILL UP OVER
TIME UNTIL IT ALL STARTED POURING OUT.
wine isn't supposed to taste like blood. it's not
supposed to taste this bitter, but it does. you
have no remorse for eating me alive, staining
my bones with your saliva. your animal instincts
to claw your way through people makes me sick.

- 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

i doubt you've managed to realize what
you have become in my perspective.

imagine yourself as a mild virus, crawling
your way through my pores disguised as
white blood cells. you circulate through a
crowd infecting people, of course, they
fail to see a disease when they see you
blossom. they see a garden where my
blood was spilled. they see train track
marks on my skin and don't ask how
they got there. you will inflame the
hearts of vulnerable people like you
promising to make them bloom, but
sweetie, do you know everything has
to die? you tied me to the train tracks,
and tell everyone it was my clumsiness
like it was my fault that left me alone
dying on the train tracks. it was your
fault you tied my hands and feet to
the bed of the tracks. if you admitted
to the crime, you would compose a
symphony of white lies confessing of
the fault lines i crossed. if i died by
your hands, it would have been like
watching the bride come at me with
the same knife she cut the cake with.

you managed to infect my being with
fervent compassion for you, yet i wish
god gave me the controls to erase that
feeling. this animal-like hunger is not
welcome inside of my bleached skin.

- kra

because this strategy of lighting myself on fire
to get your attention resulted in varying amounts
of burns all over my body. i theorized that maybe,
if you stared at the sun, then you would go blind
to my deformities. witches like me wouldn't have
to be burned at the stake for your comfort. maybe
instead of me, you would jump head first into the
fire and take a few polaroids of what hell looks like
for me and pin it up on your wall next to the picture
of us. make a collage of things that are dead and use
those few polaroids, and maybe you'll understand.

- kra

to fall for someone means catching them, right?
like holden caulfield pictured it, there should
logically be someone who can catch the kids who
start to go over the cliff if they’re not paying
attention to where they’re going metaphorically.
however, the rules of love does not play fair.
a lot of times, the catcher in the rye becomes
a phantom limb. everything is disillusioned
and phony, don't let the world try to trick you.

then what kind of ******* am i pushing when
i'm pushing myself towards the cliff? do i
kiss you out of loneliness? do i miss love?

don't let the absence swallow you, or you'll
be riding for a fall—it’s a special kind of fall,
a horrible kind. i'm not permitted to feel or
hear myself hit bottom. i just keep falling
and falling. the moment i turned towards
the cliff, i was letting you crawl into my skin,
and you infected me like a plague so fast
that i could see my vision get blurry from
the sides from running towards that cliff.

all i know is i’m one of the kids in the field
of rye sprinting towards the edge of the cliff
with open eyes hoping the catcher in the rye
will rope his arm around my stomach before
i plummet. the fall i think i’m riding for - it’s
a special kind of fall, a horrible kind. i’m not
permitted to feel or hear myself hit the bottom.
i just keep falling and falling until the catcher
helps me get back onto my feet, however, i can
not pitch the ball and catch it too.

- kra

the quietest words are the loudest
      knowledge and open eyes to the real world
                           through prose i speak and speak alone
                                           nobody encouraged me to be outspoken
                                                       ­   i was a shut-in, trapped for months
                                                          ­   like anne frank, with only power in writing
                                                         ­            i found power in words, nobody taught me
                                                                ­                   how to live, but i learned how to exist in
                                                              ­                 a world lost in it's sin, a mediocre society
                                                         ­                lost in it's power of indulgences and faith
                                                           ­        with paper and pen, i can capture honesty
                                                    the most brutal tragedy, the most beautiful love
                                      i've never felt intense fear, like hanging off a cliff fear
                               but i've been pushed to that cliff one too many times
                     i've always been scared of heights and losing someone
               but my fears are all in my head, my heart is power
         my heart is courage, my heart is love
it is the first and last thing i have

- kra

the mountains, covered in salt, recede
over time from the acidity of the rain
it's a gradual decline, eventually the
mountains will shrink due to erosion
the tree branches are like arms:
reaching towards the mountains
wanting to scale the giant
wanting the same power
the trees are depression
the trees are getting in the way
all i see are the branches, and
i don't have a scythe. no longer
can i see the brilliant skyline. the
sun doesn't peek through the trees
anymore, and i am afraid of the dark.

she must be the perfect 1950's housewife,
wearing her rogue lipstick upon her chalky
foundation. every weekend, your wife cleans
out the closets filled with the skeletons you
bring back home. i wonder if her motherly
instinct kicks in, if the warning sirens ever
go off in her head when you come home
smelling like a one night stand. i wonder
if she ever sleeps in the same bed as you,
and i wonder how much the kids gather of
your relationship with him from arguments
behind closed bedroom doors.

i wonder how much of her smile is false
advertisement. i wonder when she will
finally have enough of his white lies.

how do you make our sin feel like
******* *******, like i'm in suspension,
i am floating,
i am intricate,
i am beautiful,
but i am wrapped up in ropes
bound to you like the fool i am,
playing with matches between the
trees and scrubery like i have mastered
the art of convincing myself that i can't
possibly start a forest fire. i pretend like
i don't see that subtle movement of you
taking off your wedding ring and hiding
it underneath your favorite hunter's cap
i pretend i do not feel the blood
between my thighs and
pooling in my mouth

i watched you eradicate the ruby roses from your
skin with razors, you told me they just needed to be set
free, they were just doves in a cage needing freedom.
2. i heard that hibernation lasts only during winter
but it's spring, doesn't the flowers learn to pick up
their spines to the sun and reach for the skies?
3. i'm not sure which part of my heart is revealed to
you, but it must be a revolting sight. my apologies.
4. my heart is 50% happy/ 50% sad like living at the
bottom of the world, where i get night time six months
a year and day time six months a year.
5. this web you've strung me in has me tangled in semi-
impossible knots but i would take all the time in the world
to detangle the vines from you and let you continue growing.
6. the weight of my heavy armory prevented me from swimming
in the sickening waters, so i screamed "forget me not" at you. i'm
not so sure you heard me or if you just ignored my screams.
7. your pianists fingers let me slip through your fingers slowly
like motor oil or pancake syrup, but i'm sure you washed off
the parts of me that stuck onto your fingers.
8. HERE IS YOUR ULTIMATUM: LEAVE OR STAY.
9. survival relies on the fittest, but i'm anything but fit
for helping you survive. let me bandage every scar, even
though you're not going to be the same person afterwards.
10. forever is an overused term, but i will never forget the
side of you that shined the brightest and made the sun jealous.

- kra

you began shaking the snakes out of
the trees in the garden of Eden, i did
not realize it until i noticed the
whispers in my ears grow quiet. the
river underneath the bridge still runs
red from the blood spilled the day you
passed. i remember the sincerity you
spoke of - a false prophet. i didn't care,
i just wanted to find some sort of peace.
i wanted the rivers to run dry, i wanted
a drought, i didn't want to see the blood
shed, but i stared death in the face.

it stares back sometimes.

the pink skirt she's wearing
the pink peonys braided into the
curls of
her chestnut hair
the pink on her cheeks
and on her lips as she looks at me,
startle me. there's something in her
eyes when she looks at me, like i'm magical,
but that's her, shimmering in colors
that don't even ******* exist.
there's something magical about her
that brings both chaos and stillness to
my world. she's the still before the
hurricane,
and the hurricane itself.

manifest destiny? i'm trying to.

this body purged itself into a mausoleum
where only the dead lie. watering the dead
roses only seems to work when you are
holding the umbrella to keep the acid rain
from beating down on me with closed fists.
and yet i still count down to a date that
does not exist when i'm going to see your
face again. my fears taught me how to
hold back from biting & launching myself
into your arms. those arms are not my
safe haven (yet). i have yet to trust those
hands who let me slip through the cracks
of her fingers like syrup or motor oil.

- kra