cherry coke

this is actually an old poem, about three years old in fact. but i've been playing with it and revising it ever since i wrote it. that's the thing with poetry, it's so fluid. it's so easy to manipulate one word and end up with an entirely different meaning. maybe someday i'll have a final product i'm satisfied with, but for now...

the room is completely silent.
except for the bubbles in my soda
when they break free
from the bottom of the can,
and fizz to the top.

my door's not closed all the way
but i don't care
who hears that fucking fizz.
'fizz! fizz! fizz!' it's so obnoxious
and won't let me rest.
it's the white noise
that i don't want.
just shut up!

my eyes are blurry
when i look up from the page
and i smear black away
from both eyeslashes and paper.

my handwriting's messy
but i don't care.
i hurl my pen across the room
and the white noise tips off my desk
and flows freely onto the carpet
hissing; it's last cry
before fibers swallow it up
and leave nothing but a sticky ghost
to forever remind me of it's presence.

i am now sinking into a dream
where i am anybody else
writing some masterpiece,
writing some symphony
where notes and rhymes
spin together in perfect harmony
without fucking fizz.