Simple.

“Simple” was not the word for me.

“Becoming of static thunderclouds” was the better name,

as I stood under and caught all of the rain.

It got stuck between now and thens,

and time seemed to falter,

on these certain occasions.

Occasions in which I’d sing

or in which I’d drown.

Sunflower days,

prickly pear moments,

and addictive smiles,

leaving only one moment to be alone.

That was when I decided:

to be alone is to drown.

Cold air between the gaps of a heart

and the all-consuming urge to breathe.

To breathe

breathe

BREATHE.

Until it no longer looks like a word,

until it’s no longer an option to consider,

instinctual.

Gasping tornado winds

and coughing up hurricane floods,

from pieces and parts

of crackling thoughts and electric memories,

like coming alive from near-death

--like starting over.

Simple.

Author's Note

Is this confusing or does it all come together?