The Pop

The sound of the pop is when you hear your head get pulled out of your ass

Then and only then can you see life for its true beauty

Every blade of grass, every drop of dew on the leaves every microcosm dancing through an open field

Like Mikey-with shrapnel on his heels.

He watched his grandfather get pick-axed apart by cancer

It opened up a void sized hole in his chest, his insides were revealed

The same guy who used to club mailboxes for fun was sitting on the side of a bed

Trying to pump life back into the body of someone he loved

He was the antagonist

Turning into the helpless protagonist

Shocked, yelling “CLEAR, CLEAR” his heart began beating the second he saw him cease to exist

He heard the pop

Louder than a bottle rocket, louder than a sonic boom

It wasn’t a test siren on the first Tuesday of the month it was the real deal

He plucked his heart strings in order to change his tune.

I heard the pop for the first time in 2002

The echo of a gunshot rolled through my skull like a freighter

Whistle blowing

Change came with the morning sun that rose like a pizza crust..slowly

This was my first encounter with loss since my baby teeth came out

It was like the string attached to the doorknob

I was the open mouth

We’re all born as wounds

Stitched up countless times

No matter how well we heal the scar remains visible on the outside

We’re all invisible to ourselves on the inside, don’t know where to start

Until we connect the scrapes and scars and build a path toward who we are

Our hearts are graveyards

Our minds are urns

We get in line to swim in youthful fountains it seems like I'm the only one who chose to skip my turn

The more I age the stronger my structure gets

Life is a chiropractor cracking my back to release the gas in it

We experience accidents, we need adjustments to straighten out the spine before we cut the chord

Sink or swim, either way we’ll wash up on the shore

Our legs are drifters

Our arms are hosts

Our emotions are platforms we dive off of

Our thoughts are ghosts

They wander

Sometimes they’re seen sometimes they don’t exist

You don’t know me but I’ll admit I’ve done some evil shit

When I heard the pop in ’02 and again in 20-10

My eardrums busted open like a floor tom with a worn out skin

I’ve worn sin on my sleeves like cuff links

Regrets on my chest like stripes

I’ve been the brightest morning I’ve been the pitch black midnight

The lines between the crowds of blurs are high definition plasma screens

Each individual has been injected with color and drawn blueprints for their daily dreams

The crowds of faceless specs have yet to hear the pop

Once it fills the aimless body the hand stops shaking and the evilness stops

Once you hear the pop you see life in a different way

I bet you're wondering, "hey Robert, what do you know about the pop?"

Well, I hear it every day