Feels fucking insane, able to blend, but slipping away.

Swinging from detail to detail, to hold onto this world.

go into the service, use your skills, im not sure if i can listen to instructions at will.

what can i do, but pass the time, make a beast out of myself,

with large, focused pupils and a penchant for ryhmes. good conersation too.

but mostly, eating drinking doing whatever i want to,

i battle structure, yet search for chaos.

A priest screams "these are the thoughts with which satan sways us!"

Hypocritical, judgemental money grubbing little boy fucking robe wearing lie spreading honest to god good people like him, i just cant take them seriously.

will 5 dollars get me into heaven, huh? o, i cant bribe god, anymore...

can i sell my soul to him like the devil does. didnt think so. prove it, fucking prove it.

faith moves mountains? fucking do it, you only feel safe because yours is the popular cult.

i denounce may faith now, as i did in 8th grade.

i told you thered be another analytic serenade!

think

Unfortunately inspired to be entirely too analytic, eyes fluttering picking up the details you've been missing.

the clock is two minutes slow, in building 8, you know, 8 minutes at WO's.

That man just wiped his nose, and made your sandwich, he hasn't been wearing gloves and he looks famished.

The license plate of the beater i parked next to is DYT 650, that crown vic across the lot is with the bureau .

I drive 1.6 miles to school, i walk 12 paces from my car to my front door, the screen is wavering a quarter of an inch, below the place where the door has a hinge.

The train passes sinclair every monday at 3:46, the best time to get your sidecar graffiti fix.

I know when the alphabet boys take breaks, and when they have to exchange gifts.

The psychology of the donut exchange is another topic, but i happen to know bear claws are very popular.

Sometimes i think i think too much, but then i have a drink, some times i think i drink too much, yet this causes me to think.

This could be a blessing, i suppose, but as of now, its simple prose, structure, for my life, that i battle with all the time.

O vast knowledge of useless informative information, amount to something, if anything an assumption.

Analyzing all these things, is barely enough to keep me from losing the means to make it through my life of detail oriented greed.

The light is green, theres a gap in traffic, grit my teeth and fuckin smash it, hit the corner then im gone, to another analytic poem.

Why is the raven like a writing desk?

Scent of the pine, you know how i feel,

Freedom in my grasp, thumb on the wheel.

Going somewhere, could be anywhere.

Flurrys of contextual feelings infiltrate my wake of red trails, rushing, all as one in this huge fucking current of human affairs.

So many feelings, hard to take in all at once. The standard pieces fit my puzzle, as i retreat to neolithic behaviors and compulsions.

I sit, and ponder, the very thought of a trapezoid fitting into my puzzle box of emotion.

As acceptance shifts, emotions do not, harder and harder to fit the block, circle or square, into the stomach of puzzles entangled about my head.

Do I need help? or my stomach stapled.

What must one do, to be enabled.

Rush

As the rush comes, let me be enthralled by it, wrapped up in it.

Whether in a sober state, or some surreal reality within it.

Let me drift deeper, into to sound, let me drift deeper, bring it on.

Sinking further from the bold concrete of reality, deeper into oneself.

My Third-Eye is open, for this chasm is time.

To look into the mirror, while remaining unseen,

this is the wonder of life i seek.

anti-love

Id love to love you, really, i do.

But love requires trust, and

I cant trust anyone you see, not even you.

Trust requires faith,

and im afraid that my failed attempts to bare the cross of bullshit drained me of all of that thick gooey hopelessly hopeful substance.

Dont take it personally, dont take it wrong, i dont trust anybody, know that,

we'll get along.

Is love real? You tell me.

When the chips are down, and we're reduced to our basic instincual drives, love trust, friendship, what the fuck are these things, among this massive heap of primal need.

Human Condition

Dreadful thoughts amidst my cycle of rem,

Whether of betrayal,

Or me succumbing to stronger and longer relationships,

Every bit more intoxicating than she.

Uncanny, it seemed, that regardless, in the storm door of my big thinkin appendage,

Remains my human lust for currency, material, with which to influence.

Even when i am at most removed from these realities, am i consumed by them.

Is this really just the Human Condition. ? ...