Adding Sugar to a Saltshaker

Anticipation hangs just inches above the tip of my tongue, it dangles there like an icicle in March and I, the foolish, wait without a care. It sways effortlessly, but strategically, almost as if a puppeteer with years of experience held the crisscrossed strings high enough above me just so my senses could imagine what it would be like if whomever held the strings needed to give their arms a well deserved break. After all, it has been almost a decade worth of time since the pale arms above me took a 15 minute break. I've come up with what I think it looks like too. Even though I can't see it I have associated it with the image of a small, crystallized granule. No color, no scent; considering it's size, and no way for me to knock it loose - it just hangs there. It used to have a scent but I think I became immune to it like you do to the scent of your own house. Now, you would think my hands were tied at my side and my legs were weighted by some grandiose slab of concrete shackled to my ankle, but that is hardly the case. I am frozen with fear, but fear that had once turned into humor, humor that had resolved back to fear, and now that fear decided to stay put. Not fear in the same sense as zombies or snakes or zombie-snakes, but instead fear of the unknown. Like if you were an infant again experiencing the feeling of pain or the feeling of happiness for the first time, both seem to have a pretty lasting impact. My uncertainty took over and now I only added height to the pedestal looming over me. Still though, I sleep fine and don't find myself looking up too much anymore. My neck isn't sore but my curiosity is still aching to taste whatever it is that hangs delicately above my tongue, even if the granule turns out to be salt instead of the sugary morsel I had always imagined.

Rhythm and Beat Up

Hunger pains no longer stab at my gut but it still seems my mouth is open more than it's shut.
The frontal lobe I once owned has turned into a sponge that weighs heavy on my neck the more it gathers as it hunts.
I depend greatly on a spine that's hidden inside just to keep up with a head just about to bust.

But in reality the neck I rely on sits in my hands.
It's body weighs on my chest and my fingers take care of the rest.
It does what it can to keep time with my heart but we both miss the ride and crash played by my complimentary part.

45 Seconds, Give or Take

I'm about to faint so I want to make sure I jot down everything going on inside. My hands are shaking, my vision is tunneled, blood pressures raising, as my thoughts become bundled. I don't know how he does it but my best friend handles this much better than I could and I rarely give him credit for the things that I should. I apologize in this rare, insightful time but I hope he remembers he also owns an apology that's mine.

Self-Destruct

The cavity in my tooth
Tells me I've had too much of you
You're far too sweet
And I can't live with the ground beneath my feet
I must admit and must insist
That you resist and don't persist
I need my teeth
Like you need defeat

The coffee and cigarettes
Are taking bets
On how long I have left
But the thing they both seem to miss
Is the bomb you placed deep in my chest