Float

Death, Comets & Children

Fire is the rapid oxidation of material in the exothermic chemical process of combustion. Releasing heat, light, and oxygen.

Heat is energy, but flames can only ignite with friction.

We too go through a similar process, called pain. The rapid intense combustion of what we feel. Deep within our heart, and lungs clawing under the sealing lid, fighting to come out.

Sometimes we burn with resentment (fuel) towards the things we never had enough of (oxygen). Sometimes we break, like the high tempos and melodies on a music sheet (heat).

No matter what we feel it's always the latter, of bitter and sweet. (combustion)

Yet we are all like baleful stars descending from the nucleus of our problems. We are comets, gathering dust from our empty hollows.

Torment strangles us like gases, while negativity makes us heavy like gravity. To anchor us, and tie our hands behind our backs so we never touch the future.

We are cold to the core, burning as we fall from the universe, pulled down. Faster and faster, we descend from heaven to hell.

Then when there's nothing to burn our hearts melt.

We swell.

We are breathing while hurting; empty mantras in the rain ; fiery hail (comets).

Agonies veil.

——Jacobs POV——

Anna's not pretty or ugly but a fascination to look at. Her flamed colored hair sprouts out of her head wildly like noodles overflowing in a pot.

She's got crazy eyes. They're big like gum balls, and stick out of her small oval face. Her eyes are like fugacious memories. They reflect a distilled tint of dirty speckled brown honey blended over with a light grey.

Anna has that warm summer charm that reminds you of playful beach days in the summer; kicking the ball over the net. However, her smile is like frostbite.

Anna has that Great Gatsby aura but yet her spirit is in Wuthering Heights.

Her jeans are tight, ripped, and faded. She's wearing a bra but I can still see her nipples.

That's all she's wearing...

Today's my birthday but she doesn't know that. Anna's the perfect stranger to spend time with.

I hate names, it's like pushing a brick with my tongue, prepositions are easier.

To me, it's just a dilatory pause between my mind and heart.

Language is used to express our innermost selves, and I find that hard to do when my words come out in fragments.

Kids use to tease me in high school by calling me "Jacob the wind-up box".

Whenever, I would feel excitement, happiness or any intense emotions I would start to phase out.

My eyes would twitch and blink as if they have their own morse code. My heart would soar like a broken cannon. The words would become heavy as they banged against the wall of my mouth begging to be free.

I would wind up, just to break down.

I can come off as jittery like a squirrel with too many nuts in my mouth. I can come off as slow or retarded. I will never come off as well spoken.

Mentally I'm screaming in frustration, "just say it! It's just words...."

Stupid, broken, tongue.