Crookshanker

finding a state of constant equilibrium i feel light pink, like state fair cotton candy minus any sort of sweetness, like a cloud that mutes the visibility of the earth consistent comfort that hurts the pingpingping pang of a headache a radar in the frontal lobe surrounded by blankets and dulled nothing ever comes when it should just several minutes too late, i forget to set my alarm to ring when good decisions should be made it takes every ounce of concentration to be in love drop drop violent pink

i never feel at home i just tap at the window until i realize i'm not welcome then i go a puff of air and i am blown like i am yellow and i am red and i am a leaf that doesn't belong on her tree unflowering at her roots i miss clasping to the branches

antioxidant she makes me want to explore her geography when i was afraid to leave home lily petal lips cherry nose my sweet thing i will hold her until she is strong enough to hold herself and then i will kiss her invincible tomorrow she will make me what i have always wanted to be just a little at a time cheeks moved up, tinted with love mine smiling at me

. tomorrow i will miss you less or more depending on what thoughts cross my mind my worst fear is not that you'll leave but that you won't miss me at all i remember her in the color green and in the smell of deep decay and in the stranger things that i've been dealt that the people i know close their eyes to . i twist yellow keys around my fingers bronze with age pressing them into locked doors in hopes that one will open to the place where she is . i play games with no one and instead count spiderwebs and things that make me afraid so i will spend precious time with only the person that makes precious time worth having .

if i nurtured and picked a thorny thing for every time i was convinced i felt alive with love that made my inches crawl my hands would be a mess and i would bleed until scars made maps of me on this parchment skin criss-cross markers on this place this is the spot where they bled me dry here it is: you'll never make a fool of me i just make certain moves that make me look weak no one will ever get the best of me that's just how i let it be perceived never look away i'm afraid that if i step away, this place behind me may dissolve away like aspartame and leave me with nothing but what i started with just organic compounds and th

i pretend you are the curve of my blankets you are in the sheets on my fingers and in the smell of home if you will be my moon i will be the reflection in the ocean that makes your half whole

Several years into my youth I began playing the violin. I was first taught by an instructor and was then self-taught until I began enrollment in music school. The violin is a difficult instrument to play, you see, as it has no frets or markers the way an instrument such as the guitar does, and as I first began play with my plump child's fingers I did so with the grace of someone pressing uncooked sausages against twine. The instrument- whom I have come to call Frederic- screamed like a newborn as I first drew the bow down its strings, mewling and howling as if I had been shaving away at some secret nerve endings tucked away inside its four me