I Want To Curl Up In A Ball

I want to curl up in a ball, a tiny one, and live in your chest. Just for a little while. I promise not to be any larger than a red blood cell. I hear your left ventricle is nice this time of year. And even if I can’t compress myself to quite as tiny as the size of a red blood cell, it’s not like you don’t have the room in that enormous heart of yours. I want to see the world as it is to your circular system and be warm all the time. Maybe then I’d be able to feel my little toes for the first time since the first heavy snow of the winter. I won’t make a peep or clot or anything. I just want to live somewhere really special and honestly special for once.

I want to curl up in a ball, a small one and live in a teacup. Teacups are safe and warm and can withstand outside pressures. The contents whether they be brewed, an intoxicant, or a mix of the two serve to warm things from the inside out. There can be all the substance in the world in a teacup as you can eat soup from them. Dipping into the contents of ye olde teacup is something that never disappoints. I want to be the contents that never disappoint. And I don’t want the Sidebottoms of the world sneaking in as I sleep here.

I want to curl up in a ball, a huge one, and orbit something. Float mindlessly, pointlessly minus that whole tide thing for a couple epochs. Experience gravity as a friend for once instead of the cause of two decades and counting’s worth of skinned knees. I want to feel so pulled to something that I can’t help but hover it a devotion that would destroy the peace of the galaxy were it to ever wane or die. I want to be rock, carbon, and bizarre atmosphere yet full of a life no one can find.

I want to curl up in a ball, a moderate sized one, a me sized one and hide under these blankets from all the things that made me an errant blood cell, the invading Sidebottoms, and the pulls to orbit. I want this expanse of mattress to shrink with your taking up space. I want to unfurl into a little something better than what I curled up into.

Will you hold my hair while I purge the last million years of this life I've been living,
While fossils and artifacts of eras and epochs long gone dislodge themselves,
While I discard the drama queens that flock to me like mosquitos to the glow of suburban streetlights in late August after shredding them like paperdolls,
While I scour the cranial vault of aborted manuscripts for literary stem cells before burning it all down,
While history books of mistakes actually learned from go out with the empty bottles because learning is useless when others are involved,
While the notion that maybe we are all just some bizarre Venutian last chance cools unlike the planet,
While I make a landfill of time and space and material,
Making sure that all the while I don't wobble or fall as I banish the bacterium and viruses of what was and what has been,
And be there with a cup fresh water from the now once I'm done?