Social fabrication is denial
commitment to what is reality
vision creates a cognitive fusion
knowledge comes from dualistic da da
the crooked compass shows us the right way
open to what is next and not their next
blur is an example of time travel
three components make relativity
declaration of what is and isn’t
clarity eliminates neg bias.
Imagine you were born and raised on a big fancy floating dome
destined to live a long happy life and never yearn to see the shore
the Pacific ocean vortex is where you have always called home
your dome-ship is drifting with everything you could want or adore
born with a time-age-dilation and everyone wants to have your clone.
When alone you don’t age one little bit and in essence time does stop like Zen
when in the visual company of others you age slowly but very exponentially
the more people you can see the faster you age and that can see you is x 10
going to a ball game with a few friends would age you a week for being sociably
catching a home-run or for some other reason being on national t.v. would do you in.
Whenever you wish for something new or exotic to taste – smell – feel – hear and see
all of your desires are provided for as long as it doesn’t include drifting near sand
a ship arrives silently the very next day with everything including your favorite party
your guests are dazzled by your worldly brilliance and envy your luxurious life span
they are baffled that you’re content aging alone and get by by having fun and being arty.
You give the tour and explain every inch of the dome-home that was built to perpetually sift
there is only one part of the boat you don’t understand and gave up trying along time ago
the emergency navigation system is there in case for some reason you drift to close to the rift
it can weather any storm but usually avoids them with the precognitive advance slip stream
it will propel you back to where you began to once again begin a long trip with the vortex drift.
For as long as you can remember the emergency navigation system has been activated twice
once when you were too young to understand what was going on but remember it well anyway
the other not long ago and the feelings still linger of calling the big bluff and roll the shore dice
you’ve been preparing for this your whole life but wasn’t quite sure the direction to swim away
you often feel the shoreline is just out of sight and took the risk to swim to the horizon thrice.
When the party’s over everyone leaves with the supply ship and they never return again
a new group of people will arrive the next time to provide your material necessities
there’s always a person you wish could stay longer just to share in one little sin
when that happens the dome begins to drift towards the time vortex with ease
there is no purpose when you are always alone and perpetually at begin.
Your one true wish is to be able to swim beyond the distant horizon
you exchanged it for a cerebral transubstantiation aging dilation
in your world you need not and are the ruler of an entire ocean.
In nineteen oh one The Picasso began a life shaded in a dark pale blue
although it is well known the tragedy around this pivotal period bemused
like everything else out there, there are sides to a story at least two
his friend suicided in a Parisian café over a love in which he was refused
this had a great impact on his art and you might even say haunted him too.
He was a mega narcissist and that didn’t come with his talented hands
also kind of a schmuck by regarding most people with a cold indifference
his poor treatment of great women was more legendary than his art plans
what was it about his past that made him a jerk and sometimes so relentless
his mirror image was that a fighting bull and in the ring as the matador stands.
The Death of Casagemas
1901: Oil on Panel
Musée Picasso, Paris
The ghost of his friend would return in paint again and again and again
he used painfully joyous colours freely at the death of his once good friend
the evocation came and the guilt put to rest with the burial of his shame
pale blue and dark green paint conveying the feelings of the lost and sinned
lonely and restless with guilt he sought comfort in the arms of someone Germain.
Always moving between places to stay he was there when she needed him fast
painting the desolation, unhappiness and despair are all he could display
the misery of being physically weak and poorly eating with a frugal repast
the allegory of La Vie had the face of his dead friend in a monochomed way
his dead friend’s girlfriend was there and for him she would do for some ass.
The Burial of Casagemas (Evocation), 1901 Oil on Canvas
Musée d’Art Modern, Paris
He moved into his dead friend’s flat after the burial to begin living rent free
maybe he didn’t pull the trigger but it’s entirely possible he was gaslighting
the overpowering guilt he must have felt with this terrible truth kept secretly
shagging his dead friend’s girl around the time of his death and his own emerging
he recalls this with the three dancers of love, sex and death in a Dionysian frenzy.
Urban cloud chasers chasing and climbing their transparent relative reality
people pay more attention to the lives of they on t.v. than those they hate
men are programmed to use women for sex and like whores they utilise men for money
worshiping a god of impoverished sacrifice and subconsciously striving to emulate
blatantly avoid the truth so they can keep blindly living your facebook fantasy
the pseudo-profundity of a mass produced artificial emotion of substantial equivalence
biomorphic geemosapian clones among us that are programmed with news not really
always hedging their bets with the continuous next bigger better deal first date
like wanting to get rid of your elbow but needing to keep the hand to be wavy
relinquishing the future by caring more about what they wear and how they rate
the old regime is morphing into a new world order of aetherspehreical mind gravy.
Well dressed and battered and have forgotten how to kiss a her
ostracised forcibly from the reality of those around the aether
there’s not many around to party with or who doesn’t want me dead
where did all the people go in which to speak with intelligently
afraid that what might be said may hurt their agenda that’s hidden
everyone is watching and those who are close by keep a safe distance
unfinished business everywhere and there is little positive motivation
when analysed objectively i only exist partially and a bit peripherally
this is my trauma working itself out from within inside your unhead
conceive and produce disingenuous information in one form or another
please be a placebo for my malady and i’ll be your emotional blender.
Some people are nice and others fucking suck so which one do you often resist
either way everyone is standoffish once they get close enough to a real being
two more people are needed just to make one and once again begin to really exist
listen intently until understand something you can be verbally be disagreeing
invite them to parties at the last minute to tell yourself you tried and persist
avoid at all costs being introduced with reluctance and something of condesendance
when what you read before you walks into a room everyone suddenly has another list
responding to everything before thinking brings a high level of mis-comprehending
from the imponderable to the irrational cries of urgency are now met with a fist
is everyone else being mostly wrong all the time even when they are logicalizing
which romantic tragedy are you making yourself a part of now that you must enlist.
see morphic fields of emotional echoes in an atmosphere of uncertain transubstantiation
tell others only part of the story and leave the secret part you planned yourself out
often verbally cut with snide remarks and retreat from what was once was common ground
make people ask for the same thing over and over again and again and again all day
like to see pleading for something decided is theirs anyway just to enjoy seeing them beg
point out everything that is wrong and never seem to get around to the right desire
take a burn victim to the beach on a hot sunny day one day after the gasoline fire
ask a rape victim out on a date with the blood and cum still dripping down her leg
go fishing with friend and when they are not looking make all the fishes swim away
negatively say no to everything first and then mindlessly ponderously loudly expound
condescend to people even though you haven’t even a clue or any real emotional clout
go spiral gliding with me into the vortex of a creatively repriseful tribulation.
i practice writing backwards with my left hand and regularly with the right
i never speak to strangers until spoken to first and never in the night
i rarely smile and when it happens they are forced and fleeting from sight
i am not living and superficially died although sometimes wonder if i might
i don’t like big crowds unless there is loud music, cleavage and strobes of light
i know you’re temporary and that’s why my senses are saying to offer little resistance
i will never love again because the capacity to do so have long since perished
i never know who to trust so i trust no one and that seems to be generally cherished
i will not pursue you in any form and most likely will run away and try to perish
i want my brain to to turn off or explode but she always seems to try being bearish
i am not comfortable being one-on-one or in small or large groups of the garish.
Negative bias infects all forms of communication and it’s easy to detect
giving preformed opinions about life before knowing the full complete story
nobody now knows each other any more and not many really want the neglect
everything has to be done slightly different than what works orginoptimally
thousands of connections and 1 friend at a time while searching for respect
only attend parties that are full of dark strangers offering passive resistance
lost experiences that never happened and nobody to share with the glory
any time i do anything with anyone it always has to be done by their way
it’s not much fun doing everything with ghosts who never get tired of gory
a leader forced to follow people always hedging their bets on yesterday
where can i find anyone who wants to play and take a cerebral inventory.
Please stop asking me how i’m doing today because the answer is always the same
when they ask you’ll be tempted to tell them the truth that makes them go away
the kindness of strange is just about the only kind of kindness that ever came
they like to see me climb just so they can enjoy helping me fall day after day
you can count on me to let your false expectations down with only you to blame
fun would be nice if you can get it but settle for the absence of pain resistance
returning home from a trip and nobody realises that you’ve returned or were away
drop in long enough to find out what going on and make sure it does just the same
subconsciously incapable of trusting anyone including those who deserve to stay
don’t tell me things will be okay because that was heard flushed down the drain
eating raw garlic one clove at a time and warping reality with the defame game.
Hurry up and wait while being precisely criticised but never thoroughly analysed
you think you are in control but are really not aware of how you actually survive
the odds are against us and the deck is stacked by a pretend friend who’s demised
they who were invited to the table changed the game is now staring at your back
life has been passing by while sitting somewhere quietly and sort writing about it
hugging is like holding a stripped naked tree full of dreams about bark subsistence
not being there when you are needed and instead being a passive aggressive placebo
can you spew any more jingoistic blathering or simply another kind of sweet bullshit
all habits are emotionally driven and programmed by our experiential environments
it would be nice to die in someone’s arms someday and hopefully it’s with a friend
love is something we lose and once trust is lost it is lost forever down the grinder
my dreams become nightmares whey they begin to include anything resembling her
the cobwebs of my mind are laced with poison memories she left behind to send
your experiential trauma doesn’t fit very well with mine and my experiments
the forgiveness you are seeking can only be fulfilled with a justice permit
stand there and wave and give bad advice and never get involved or get past go
making something out of what is not by creating moments of cognitive dissonance
things in equilibrium are the most efficient with unnecessary tweaks are aborted
being single and alone is something that has already been accepted as a fact
not part of any group or family or friends or tribe that’s living or organised
open the doors of perceptive pleasure centres and let the reprogramming revive
strong memories are fake or painful and you wonder why we’re all anti-socialised.
For me writing a poem is like singing a song and once it’s fully written it’s sung
moments of cerebral drifting crash like a wave of hand scribing upon a moleskin sheet
running red ink across the paper mostly with my left hand and sometimes with the wrong
waking up and once again fooling myself into a dream state of wakeful partial sleep
they work for most everyone obviously but were meant for someone like me only strong
it’s easy to find a way to explain away that which you don’t want to believe with insistence
my writing is not meant to be perfectly crafted clusters of a representative memory
when i read words of hope and inspiration i can’t help but grin and nod horizontally
minds extend beyond brains and in a collective in which we are all plugged into partially
chance combined with coincidence fuels the free ride of deference and selective memory
consciousness emanates in an aethersphere of perceptual dimensions and we are # 13.
It’s too late to be honest can’t you look around and see
liars living like you always live in little long lost la-la-land
you lie each time a phrase is uttered at least to some degree
you know everything as it supposedly is and never seek to understand
what others think doesn’t matter because only you know the full story.
Nobody knows who you really are and if they did they would just walk away
every decision you make includes some kind delightfully devious deception
there is nothing left but a shell of a life almost lived and wasting away
if right now you told everyone you know every lie you have ever told them
would there be anybody left for you to speak with by the end of the day?
It’s impossible to tell anyone the truth so you quit trying a long time ago
you are reality deficient so you’ll settle for something close in your head
the feeling you get when you manipulate others isn’t quite love on the grow
you’re okay with the feeling of a carefully fabricated self-loathing instead
when you don’t get your way you alter your reality to feel just a bit retro.
Every cloud has a silver something and yours is lined with believable half-lies
you are addicted to the residue of your razor thin line of grey powdery lies
you know how to lie perfectly by knowing just when to say nothing and still lie
a surge of invigorating stimuli you feel is why you’re in love with your lies
little white untruths so unclear even your emotions are clearly deceptive lies.
The yarn bridge you’ve been weaving over the river bliss is getting longer every day
it’s too late to turn back because there is nothing or nobody to offer any admittance
you can’t reach the other side because with this bridge you’ll never get past half-way
the length to the shore and bridge is increased by a microinch with each lie of resistance
you made it that way with your miasma of detractors and avoidance encased in a heart of clay.
Living out your fantasy of reality while others struggle with your own private truth
is your future so uncertain you don’t know which alternate agenda you’re going to pursue
when you were admitting to a lie is the only time we’ve ever heard you tell the truth
you weave a trail that never intersects with the others’ thin grey lines of power residue
what binds us together is lost when crossed your line scatters when it encounters the truth.
Your favorite addictive emotion is the electrochemical jolt through the cerebral center
when you say something snide that somehow helps you and nobody can or can’t verify
you don’t discern truth from lies because for you they are too hard to remember
the only time you resort to telling the truth is to cover up or prepare for a lie
you lie with your voice but your face and body are yelling to everyone do not enter.
Do you do things to people you know they wouldn’t dare want to do to them-self
do you try to get others to catch the lies tossed from your faulty fabulist tower
do you often hesitate with an answer or simply say nothing by being yourstealth
do you lie when you don’t have to just to maintain your false feeling of power
do you believe the lies at you tell others or just the ones you tell yourself.
You run out of life just a little bit with each and every thought of a lie
the greatest lie is the one you tell yourself every time you begin to utter
the lies you tell yourself are the easiest because you never need to justify
it’s ok to lie when you do it your way because it doesn’t relatively matter
nobody notices and they don’t see that you are really just trying to try.
Everyone lies to some degree in spacetime so what kind of lier are you
there are really big lies and some are so small you hardly ever realize
there are razor thin grey lies and their dark powdery lines of residue
there are even some nice lies that lead up to a pleasant evening surprize
if they knew the whole truth would the target of your lies forgive you?
The holidays are here and it’s time to ignore,
all that is wrong with all of the unpleasants.
It’s easy to do with really good food,
great entertainment and lots of presents.
Homeless is up and so is the crime,
it has nothing to do with what’s on the books.
It’s those who scribe the laws with their built in flaws,
who are the true villains and wealthy crooks.
Try to help those who need your heed,
before your friends but I know that’s a task.
Remember those unlike you is why you are who,
while drinking from your golden hip flask.
There is no need to proceed to the alter and kneel,
praying that nothing and every one else matters.
You know what you want is a room full of wrappings,
with people who praise you and regularly flatters.
Those who should be sharing in the annual bounty,
is the reason the season should be so dear.
To those not so fortunate to have privilege with birth,
should go many presents from the good year.
There really is no santa clause or a virgin birth,
but they are very much present none the less.
Any reason is good enough for a season,
that brings good cheer and a new shirt or dress.
We’ve gone astray from the fray so much that there is no more core.
It’s been replaced with digital space and our favorite stores that we adore.
You can’t give it unless you’ve got it so emerge from behind the Black Door.
The time has come to open up and sell to the rich while giving to the poor.
San Francisco has lost its soul,
in the name of a balanced budget.
There is also what we all depend on,
the tourist dollars they count and fudge it.
Change is the cry they always jingle,
to get themselves elected.
They make us think we need their angle ,
because the city’s infected.
The people in charge have everyone fooled,
believing that they are free.
The power lay in not knowing who’s ruled,
if you look you too will see.
They sell us security and false hope,
but are really just liars and thugs.
All in the name of what they really scope,
Gold, Oil and control of all the Drugs.
The tourists come here looking as did I,
hoping to find sometime in which to belong.
What they find as progress is that people can get high,
but still get a life sentence for just having a bong?
They come here daily already in love and from the moment they arrive,
are given maps and tour-guides to all of the objects of their misplaced affection.
They come here hoping to find something close to how we used to survive,
many leave with plenty of souvenirs and an unsettling sense of personal rejection.
Our biggest “TouristAttraction” or otherwise amusement ride,
is another sign of a society way out of reality whack.
It once was a way to help the people who lived here and provide,
now it’s little more than revenue stream for City Stall desk jockeys to spend and track.
Sure it’s cute and it keeps the tourists coming,
with every ticket comes a much bigger invisible price.
Which by the way is the latest 19th century travel technology,
for the price of a round trip ticket and 2 scoops of creamed ice.
All for a ride with a little bell and a cute jing-a-ling-a-ling,.
that reminds them of back home and their box of shrimp friend rice.
If we are going to do it anyway we should so in with electromagnetic pulsation,
they keep on coming which they’re going to do anyway and keep snapping pictures as they pass.
The attention of the world will be upon us once again as we carry the pulse and the minds of a nation,
the trolly may work fine for the tourists but for those who live here the hills are still a pain in the ass.
The art scene here would be laughable,
if it weren’t so pitiful and unbelievably sad.
The greater tragedy of this part of the fable,
is that everywhere else it’s just as bad.
Buyers with dollars and nobody to trust in the end,
with a market with no rules and everything sounds like a cheer.
It’s the ones with a hammer at the other end of the pen,
who maintain the prices and control them with fear.
I’ve never been to Alcatraz and there I never will see,
I seek no beauty in a chamber of pain with hoodies and an audio tour,
What needs to replace this old and ugly monstrosity,
is a futuristic reminder of what we are willing to endure,
and show how the perfect world is going to be.
For most of the tourists anything will do like they say,
they really want to say that they did this and that with pride.
Standing in lines for things they really shouldn’t even pay,
always paying for the t-shirt with the smile and glide.
They can now go home and wear it to display,
that they too went on the San Francisco ride.
That’s what we’ve become and it’s been like this for a while,
we have two choices that seem easy for to me and us to make.
Stick with the past and make history our trade in the name of denile,
The second choice has already been made behind your back and this time with nothing that’s fake,
the artists are taking over again but this time with mba’s, engineering degrees with much better fashion and style.
If a mind can be twisted it can surly be mended,
not by those who have to gain what you are about to lose.
Doctors, therapists and psychiatrists are bended,
treating something like its broken when its really a bruise.
Just because you’re hearing voices and seeing a new thing,
that doesn’t mean you are deficient like they want you to believe.
Doctors are only partially right 100% of the time they ping,
when asked most will only recite what the dsm labels your reprieve.
Why is it that drugs that let us feel good instantly,
are made by and large expensive and illegal?
The drugs that they are not sure what they do,
most cause anhedonia but are considered noble and legal.
Why does is seem from their limited perspective,
they are the ones that know what to do.
They are only there to see everyone at their worst,
and are never around for the normal part deux.
Too many of them and too few of us,
for anything like effective mind recovery.
People are nothing more to many of them,
than one step closer to their next big discovery.
They’re here to heal but don’t really understand how,
offering all of their empty help our minds can now sing?
DBSA and the NAMI groups perpetuate a familiar lie,
that everyone is somewhat sick and can’t do anything .
Schizophrenic this and bipolar that and lets not forget depression,
they only focus on what to call all of the others.
I wonder how they would like to be labeled in negative regression,
by all of our disenfranchised sisters and brothers.
Only deal with those who prove themselves,
to be your personalized recovery practitioner.
If they say there is no such thing on their shelves,
then they’re nothing more than a drug dealing executioner.
You have newly formed mounds of darkened skin,
under your eyes where smiles and we used to be,
the aroma of loneliness flutter in the air from within,
every time you blink someone blind begins to feel-see.
The once was you is forever gone replaced with neo-nice,
every day has a new tormentor with nodes of perception,
the masses have been diverted from a solstice to sacrifice,
experience the non-obvious senses by neo-conceptualization.
What we are together is by introducing our subconsciousnessi,
neuro-genesis manifests with our ultra-spontaneous creativity,
cerebral transubstantiation is now upon us from a darkened sky,
prepare for atavistic redivivus after reading parisological poetry.
If you don’t believe me just ask marzia
the alligence to status has crippled you all
everything i own is tattered and on its last wow
no parties to attend at a nice big or small house
the ledge of a bridge or edge of a switchblade symphony
do this or do that and this may or may not be relunctently
it is the week before birthdeathday and i feel like such a louse
the opportunity cost of the other is missing the wow of the now
i killed myself a thousand times today and again nobody to call
years’ empty and meaninglessness is only eclipsed by pain ultravira.
Getting fucked in the ass again is my specialty and i’m not even gay
the way to feel love has been long lost and somewhat long forgotten
your truth is not the whole truth or anything resembling a neo-state
smile to my face and lie to me while unbuttoning your red blouse
patiently waiting for my reign of existence to unfold into ribbons
i am reading for the whole truth but only get bits and smidgens
useless advise and cautionary warnings that are insults to a mouse
in the book of lairs they choose a picture of something like a primate
you finger the truth just long enough to turn it into something re-rotten
future predicting is how they decide on whether or not to decide to stay.
living in the poetry capital of the world and even a passing rolling stone
tis the season to question life and the existence it brings before intuition
the pleasure you offer is nothing compared to the worst of my pain de jour
the Other is time spent projecting on the thoughts and actions then expire
nobody knows who i totally am and nor do they want to after close inspection
the knockings are about to begin and this i know because of legal introspection
showing weakness to the wrong woman is like showing fresh blood to a vampire
the role you play on the life stage is to enjoy pointing others in through the out door
saying and doing whatever you want because you think you can be everyone’s volition
it’s the time of the year of celebration for the united and reckoning for those of us alone.
i would jump off the golden gate bridge but with my black luck i would probably live
i feel as if there is something to offer society but there is none that really want me
they find my weak spots and grind them with cutting comments peppered with salt
nobody ever misses me except strangers and those seeking ideas and the sublime
time warps on one relative track and does not reverse or repeat on the absolute other
we would love to get involved but we’re to busy doing nothing with your long lost lover
there is only one reality for each of us and unfortunately for me she was part of mine
when something good falls in my lap there is effeminately someone like them to take it
it’s been such an unpleasure to to meet the real you and see all of my fears pleasantly
all thoughts are electro-chemical and have both an emotional and intellectual aethersive.
Just because you can read a clock does not mean you understand time or how it works
i want to open the veins in my wrists or dangle at the end of a rope or step onto the track
i’m way to nice and always give everything away till there is nothing left at the end for me
what if all your dreams were like mine and when they came true were nightmares instead
the quantum essence of our thoughts commingle within the circulating flow of the aether red
if you see through my eyes you will never again smile and all humans will become undead
a mouth full of cockroaches would be preferred than the feeling after being inside your head
why would we want them when there is joy without others that is easy for us to almost see
it’s as if i just finished swimming across the ocean and with one day rest have to swim back
we’re always in the state of inner panic and likely like something resembling the murky murks.
The rumor mill is grinding away at your bones the dust is used to build walls around your stay
crippled with no interest to live and when i sit down to write the list there is a little of a something
do you really want to live more than one life if the one you are living now completely fucking sucks
i never speak to strangers anymore and saying i love you only evokes a diminishing giggle with nod
one of the only reasons i don’t want to die is because i know how happy it will make some people
if our minds are turned into the correct frequency we will experience why we relatively are not people
if there ever was a woman who could light the fire of my mind and body i am sure she is a dark mod
there is no group who wants me around as i am incapable of conventional interaction or sucking fucks
the answer to the question is the same when asked of my plans and they are always the same nothing
thanks but no thanks now that we’ve used you we no longer need but thanks for all of your help anyway.
i am really not writing much right now because the tourchering of myself has been taken over by eminent death
haven not seen a starry night in years because i rarely leave a one mile radius of the big city lights of san francisco
this is the first part with part two being the first ten parts being rearranged and edited to rhyme hopefully andor eloquently
every week gets much worse and much worse it gets i assure you naturally without any interference from you or any spirit
belief fulfills expectations and the slowing of energy flow compounds inspiration and absence of self something compared
only the lonely could understand that lonely when you write your suicide note and there is nobody left whom to address it too
time experienced has two parts that are at rest over the square of one minus velocity divided by light speed both squared
light is a particle and wave that bends throught time and space at a very raped pace wit your each and every movement
then when you are alone with them you really care viciously with your gossip and upward social networking conspiracy
it’s the season to be alone and forgotten though there may be a roof over my head but i wouldn’t call home a disco
it’s 3am and sleep is distant as the real is coming back and lucky for me the doom and gloom are still ultramyth.
While millions are celebrating unreality with glee there are tens of thousands more who want to die like me
now sitting at my favorite cross corners of columbus and broadway watching the people with others go by
if you’ve ever placed a magnet near a cuompass you should understand the power of negative sophic blab
one could not mistaken my existence for living and when time is it anyway to say farewell to the stay
anything that should be said can be said in a a rhyming poem or phrases that make sense or sense
imagine having your hands tied behind your back being kicked repeatedly in the groin very intense
i lay in my wooden basket nightly petrified with fear expecting that any moment they will be at bay
the only people who are watching my back are those who picking out their favorite spot to stab
my shower runs only once in a while and there is no one around who cares about or sees why
because your gaze is painful i have learned to avoid eye contact at all the times that i see.
Our subconscious is steaming words on a steady flow but i’ve been paralyzed with real fear
sculpting with words my perfect counterpart only to have them edited with unclear reality
what you would do if you knew that every response you ever receive is translucent
look around and what do you see except nobody standing or sitting next to me
when the game is over and i’ve already lost is it too late to throw in the know
transubstantiation is how we connect to the collective cerebral under-tow
today’s the worst day of my life and tomorrow is expected much worse to be
the only surprise you will ever receive are those give with something reluctant
it’s rare for me to speak to anyone’s face for more than a few times specifically
what is in the space in between the pre and post synaptic nerve centers are clear.
December is always empty for me with nothing to do and no more big parties
how much time do you spend thinking about the future actions of the others
every meal is eaten as if it may be the last because it very well may be
family and friends are things of the past with our name on no guest lists
feeling like the elephant man with a highly contagious form of leprosy
running on empty and so lonely they feel terrible for the you that’s me
kind-of-makes sense is usually good enough for me and the one twist
downward spiral is all i know and it knows me back very eloquently
their bed is full of my truth while my pillow only cry’s and smothers
jealousy fills my emotionless void when i read all the obituaries.