Confounding** thoughts
Obscuring all emotions,
Nervously dreaming .
Forever lost
Under a fogs blanket
Stewing in turmoil
I am we,
Or is we am I,
Needless confusion

Usually my body and
My mind agree
It's just one thing

See,
My body is ugly
And so is my mind

My body is weak
And so is my mind

My body is sick
And so is my mind

However,
My body looks happy
And my mind is sad

That is where,
My body and my mind
Don't always agree

No no no, this isn’t one of those commendable confessional rants of redounded reality.
We all know where that goes and what it leads to.
This rhetoric comprises solely of the faulty intuitive comprehension and the ******* behaviour people have while under the influence of the poor man’s ****.
That could be mistaken for a typo.

Xeno-meph, would be what aliens are called if they did this too.
Extended warranty of your sinus cavity is a must.
And a mouth guard so you don’t churn away at the capricious calcium that are your teeth.
Smoke and dance till lungs and legs collapse.
Talk like you’re the spokesperson for an oil company that’s pillaging life and land.
Change your personality in a minute and become the ****** you always wanted to be.
That smart talking, **** wagging, ***** licking, *** *******, back stabbing, self serving, worthless ******* is now you, but it doesn’t feel like that to you.
Rational *******, your only reprieve.
Keep doing the same things over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over again hoping the outcome will change.
But you’re cool.
You’ve done this before, it’s solvable.
A break. That’s all there’s to it.
The itch in your nose has stopped. Your jaw doesn’t hurt.
You don’t feel like ****, but you know somehow that something is amiss.
Things are not what they seem. Sense doesn’t make itself.
The dark is your sanctum. Fast is your peace.
That’s not a typo.

The world cannot slow down for you.
You have to speed up. Another gram, another line, another lie.
Control is what you say it is.
Handles are what your stomach has.
Fast forward a few months and you don’t have a handle on anything.
You don’t feel down, you feel fine. Nothing’s wrong
But just another fall, and you’re straight out of line.
Justify! Justify! Justify!
Listen, keep listening… Talk! keep talking!
Everything makes sense. Everything is a sense.
The difference is that I’m faster, quicker, sharper.
I’m handicapped.
Leverage is my mind, broken and blind.
I wish that was a typo.

Scott hung stolen-gold
from his skinny crack-neck,
loved selling it too,
had a briefcase full of chains
& pocketfulls of dough.

And Mister Joe,
Mister Joe our resident chemist,
kept the bowl full,
forever cooked **** up,
invented special blends of snow,
crafted pink rock
that made us forget
our troubles,
blew them up
in smoke.

Louise, O sweet Louise,
you craved the tube snake boogie
and having your clam baked
with every two-legged man in sight.
You tried to save me more than once,
but I couldn't take a number,
be another knave.

Janice, wild-eyed sister Janice
spoke to us in multiples
and it was strange
how we all understood
your fractal language
& enabled you
to turn the pages
of your pain.

Well my sick friends,
you're all dead now,
except you,
you,
you the smiling child,
the schizophrenic one.