jerkwatercorner

It's different where we are. And not all slick rain boots and clouds of caffeination, like we're made out to be, either. It's all subtle, peeking out from behind the tree trunks built up by bones of brocade, braches by a latticework of diamond diadems that catch the haze-sieved light and refract, refract, refract, a veritable labyrinth of piercing lasers interrupting, tripping over words, stepping on toes inside the chiseled prism of meteorological phenomena. There's the blushing slivers of half hours wedged in between waking and dreaming, dusk and dawn. The cool grey of dew mornings that quench the negative space between supple organs when

In the end it's all about control. In the end it's all about happiness. Or love. Or misery. Or life. Or freedom. Or truth. Or independence. In the end it's all about what's in the end. Which makes no sense. Which means everybody is the same. Which is just fucking terrifying.

One day the world will run out of colors. Or at least the colors themselves will Run into the shreds of vintage fabrics lining the stalls of a market away from prying eyes Or the whispers of clarity left in the wake of amnesia. No longer in the murky streaks of wasted highlighter ink that run into and over each other like unchecked bumper cars, or Skittles that cockily tout their contrived polychromatic carcasses. They will saturate the night where few will see them; but where they will remain, liberated.

Heart: Pitter Patter Pitter Patter Pitter Patter Pitter Patter Pitter Patter Pitter Patter Pitter Patter Pitter Patter Pitter Patter Pitter Patter PitterPatterPitterPatterPitterPatterPitterPatterPitterPatterPitterPatterPitterPatter Pitter Patter Pitter Patter Pitter Patter Pitter Patter Pitter Patter Pitter Patter Pitter Patter Pitter Patter Pitter Patter Pitter Patter PitterPatterPitterPatterPitterPatterPitterPatterPitterPatterPitterPatterPitterPatter

Dear World,     My greatest fault has been in the coveting of, and desire for,     Your affections.     Stray not too far, Dear World,     You are the knot in the rope that     Keeps me from free-falling.     You, with your mass appeal and     Many lovers and     Glittering Snow White apples for eyes.     (You don’t)     Need me like I need you;     Though I do deny that and will     Deny

It will go out like a flame. Nothing more than an impermanent, trivial thing, Able to be re-lit. The little blue marble will be squeezed until it bursts, As if it were a small plastic pellet, Filled with some bright blue liquid, And perhaps a dusting of dust. The people will scream! But no one else will hear them… There will be no one to report the incident the next day, No tweed-clad journalist with a black microphone, “Making sense” of the senselessness. And As far as the universe is concerned, There will be no disaster.

My eyes shot open, And they were greeted by the darkest of darkness, Like guests who have Overstayed their welcome. The unmovable sludge, With no depth or context, Loomed in front of me, And I wondered, If I had even opened my eyes At all. Though so unreal and empty, The blackness pressed up on me, Until I felt the oppressiveness, The pressure of the bane of my Existence. I closed my eyes again, For safer havens. And I slept.