The Power Down Below

Underneath
the ocean of crust, a crust so thin,
it breaks over and over and over again.
This crust is orange-peel green,
and lemon red.
It is an aqua pen
so surreal,
I swear its a sin.

Underneath
my land of spit
my heart is so light
it will buzz so bright.

Neon colors
puncture highlighter yellow,
bursting with light
that's too hard to follow.

No action is to behold
of the plastic bands that cover my wrists.
One rainbow,
one yellow,
one green,
one red,
and one pink.

All holding my spirit
inside my chest of gold,
clenching my fist
of fury,
of pleasures untold.

Nothing can unfurl
the bounds that hold me down,
trying to escape.

It bounces
in tight pinks yarn balls.
It flings itself
like in a game in ping-pong.

My poor heart just sits,
for so long, a year,
it fails to forget.
The sweet times I've had
so pure and so clear.
The openness I feel
while standing on top of a Peruvian mountain.

These whispers
so drought,
so vulgar and stingy.
The silver beams that hold my rhythm up
are so damn funky!

Today, not tomorrow
I will have to break free.
Free of this crust,
all tarnished and gray.

My saliva dries up,
my hands start to cramp.
The ends of my hair
climb up
and drop off.
My nails shine milky white in the moon,
as wrinkles appear
not a moment to soon.

The ocean is bubbling, bubbling, soon
it will get so full
it will have to overflow
into buckets of steel
in the power down below.