I am

The sky of the setting sun,

To rip.

An odd one, all points and lines,

To claw.

The loud tap tap tap against the keyboard, constant, never ending,

To grow.

The quiet hum of boredom,

To sigh.

Alone and prowling through the towering woods, hunting,

To sprint.

Neptune, deep ocean blues, reaching for the skies and wishing to fly,

To cry.

Prime, 1 x 7, the cannibal, the one who ate 9,

To laugh.

Old and green, no longer me, my, and mine,

To live.

The comfort of lying down, plush pillows, comforting blankets,

To die.

The keys, white and black, too large, tiny hammers,

To fly.

A lonely room, nothing there but shelves, a desk, computer, books, a bed,

To laze.

Grease dripping, cheese burning the roof of the mouth, reveling in the taste,

To relax.

Surging waves, crashing against stony cliffs, crushing all that fall,

To roll.

Thin, long branches and long leaves, so willowy,

To shiver.

I don’t understand, I don’t know, what’s going on, what can I do?

To swing.

A ripping, tearing the lids open, the pain of claws in my eye,

To suffer.