spillage in verbage, my garbage and art... i am all in.

i've come undone, and these words are my spilling open, my hand outstretching for reassurance, and my spillage not ordinary by design... it fills my pores and my dreams awake, not so alive...This is a dumpster, a trash bin all bloated and full... With these words strung out line after line, what they are wholly? Just the spillage and baggage, a mutable image all poured out out OUT of just me... these are the sewage leeking raw, my gutter and stormdrain all runneth over, used up by such swollen summers as this.An ordinary cup and its been filled to the brim, hastily poured and shaky-handed as the lip of the cup drinks the spilling over.Over the top, down down down, drips the excess from this cup and pelting hard as one droplet falls to this shag-carpet white floor, a line soon forms droplets single-file, successive, and as I'm pouring more more MORE my cup more like a fountain unfound in rainforestry glorious waterfall country somewhere... Overtaking i am an asshole with nowhere else left, extraordinary excess soaking and staining in puddles stagnant, this spillage seems wholly not sewage- but some errant emotions simmered as teabags I brew and I pour as a tea teeming over as my cup can't keep up, so displaced are its contents... Syntax of strings of words, like braids in my hair are better, and authentic at a glance, if played with or twirled and tugged just for fun... like flirting on the playground finds boy falling for girls- leaving ruffled feathers and braids undone and good girls too, are undone by that boy fickle and first to try...Leaves fallen and a sapling learns to spill what's left. Make room, there's more more more extraordinary to come. These songs on loop deafening, threatening to throw me off my 8-track and off-track, like that go-kart when I took it too hard a turn, just hard right... left me shaky and undone all knock-knee I bet, hurting that old tree with go-karts and immortality. I was just eight, although ordinary just could not stand me...And so it is. This is what's splashed up and out from my older and slower to accelerate around turns beating bongo, or tom-tom why not, smack in the midst of my chest, so i believe.My braided strings of ordinary words are woven with these shaky hands, steady seems to never arrive; though i can't help but crack myself up as i flood my floor and still shaking but clutching the overflowing, waterfalling, but ordinary cup; outpouring cascading all bleeding together are the teabag treasures, tales I tell here... plus spinning wheels of kinetic cosmic engagements wasting away, all inert and wan- collected in puddles, forever tainting and changing the floor itself.Puddles of mud, maybe baby I belabor my mud in my case... no ordinary shitstorm for sure, it shakes me like babies in Brooklyn maybe- who get pushed out like leaves of October to ready the roost for whatever is better and still to come, all unseen and brand new...Extraordinary spillage from an ordinary life is this collective emotive, words picked overripe like plantains should be; my wanton wastefulness rearing its ugly head.Hopeful chaos and insight may collide here, and incite some great change- a mad dawning of clarity I fantasize falling over me and so I write for that.This puddle of excess, spilled out of my swollen self- I stare down at this shit, just an ordinary observer lacking some overly ambitious anything, closer I look into the spillage sweet smelling rot in puddles of random soaking my feet.And the stuff of the spillage which fell from my cup was more than muddy shit and worth cleaning up... These are the heartbreaking horrors I've mostly molded myself; dropped all imposing and crushing on others, and me too. I show this, my hand I dealt myself with eyes open wide, to you now or never, I care not at all or nothing- which happens inside me, reeks true; the continuum's dueling ends, maybe my means to what end, I'm not sure of and can't breathe thinking about...Spilling open from all that's bursting and begging and bubbling up behind door numbers one through a whole lot... Just splash in these puddles, swim in the spillage and sweat with me here: As we both dive in eyes open feet to the sky, all wrapped up and tangled up by the extraordinary mess mess MESS I've made.