View From The Bottom

 I can see a lot from here. It isn't what people really want to see, but there's still a lot of it. For example, there are so many different kinds of shoes; sneakers, loafers, galoshes, sandals, spike heels, you name it. And some of them are really nice. 

Honestly, I would much rather get stepped on by a pair of black and white oxfords that shine like the barrel of a gun, then a pair of faux-gold strappy sandals that are pretending to be Grecian. 

Guess it's just a preference thing. I'm still getting stepped on after all. 

People drop things though, and they end up down here. Long forgotten treasures that fall out of pockets or tumble off of trucks. People who were discarded along the way who get sick of the climb, they end up here, too. Well-loved markers. A worn and patched wallet. A piece of someone's tail light from when their car was towed away.

I guess I count as one of them, now. A cast-off. A rat cast into the river with a pair of cement shoes.  I'm not entirely surprised, I do this to myself ALL the time. I am the absolute worst of myself, to myself. Come on, where else would be easier to aim it? And I'm SUCH an easy target too, God I know just what makes me tick. 

It is really hard to be excited about the things you love when no one gives a shit Oop, sorry, at it again. Let me try that one more time. 

It is really hard to be excited about the stupid shit you love when there's a voice shouting in your head.

It is really hard to be anything with that voice telling you nothing but the hard truth talking smack about everything all the time. 

Except bored. It's easy to be bored. Because if I'm bored it means that I am not fucking anything up at least have time to try and convince myself NOT to be an ass to myself. 

I can't even turn the firehose off, it's just cold and damp and getting very full in here, and I keep hearing--

You know what, I think that's it for today. 

Pour

 I know the danger now,

of letting things flow, 

fingers stretched and grasping

holding, stretching, molding, yes

yes

pouring thick as syrup from my veins

a taffy I can work like clay

a solid stream of thought

play, words, lands, people, yes

yes

I can fill the room around me

craft my own palace, fill it

fill my world with everything, anything

all of it, any of it, many, few, yes

yes

I can't move fast enough to catch it all

it comes as often as breath, heart beat, blinking

I beg for it not to stop, of course

why, please, never stop, I need it, yes

yes

Oh, but folly is not seen until its up to the eyes

my palace submerged, my lands sinking

everything, anything, still pouring out

out, out, out, out, out, yes

yes

I will drown in this, my thoughts

imaginings of more wonderful things

what I can't have, what does not exist

not real, can't be real, oh I wish it to be real, yes

yes

and when my air is full of this clotted stuff

beauty warped by pressure, space, clumsy fingers

tired fingers, ever molding, with no one to see

please, watch, read, listen, see? yes

yes

perhaps then I will die covered here, content

buried in things I love, created to be shared

up to my eyes, my ears, nose, golden, honey sweet

yes.

Jump

 I stand as a shattered thing

eyes turned, chin down, unsettled

a weakness for deities

beautiful, talented, a little insane

and when something is all of these

I cannot seem to stay tame

I am virulent

a toxic tonic set to fizzle

blood boils, heart pounds, skin sizzles

leaping without looking at the edge

and knowing a fall like that 

kills

I stand as a shattered thing

after landing

on my feet, still, on my feet

though swaying

though smiling, masochistic

at the blood on my own bare fingers

having no chance even to heal

before I even start pounding

over and over and over and over

at the cliff

to climb back up on broken legs

only to jump again.