I hate my stupid brain
Always forgetting, day dreaming and overthinking
Scheming on things that I know can't happen, or won't for some time
And when it's not doing that it's arranging words and punch lines together by rhythm and syllables that rhyme

I hate my stupid heart, always anxious and never not being optimistic,
Always creating dreams that my brain will produce
Always searching for something beside hockey and poetry to invest in, when I don't even know how to do my taxes.

Lastly, brain we need to have one more chat
I know we've had our differences, which is weird because you occupy the space underneath my scalp.
But if you could be so kind as to become more flexible to changes in a rehearsed routine
That would be, dear fleshy *****, simply keen

You know if I had those comic book X ray eyes
I'd probably wish that I was blind
Because, you see a lot of people are in disguise
They walk Normal, healthy, and obviously alive
But inside there's no vigor, no spark, no life
Translation they, Including myself at times
Are like the Walking dead, alive but dead inside

So how do we cure this outrageous infection
and stop this plague during the height of its insurrection
the answer is simple, reach out, extend the olive branches attempt to forge those connections
Or the walking dead will continue to walk and assail us with no protection

What can you do if your own head doesn't make sense
the silence maddening to sit through and the cacophony of every day leaving inside your mind an unholy stench
It feels like there's in my head next to the iPad a ******* monkey wrench
I guess I don't understand anymore what's going on why can't this make sense
Unless I write my head will snap open and the scars will be visible
But sometimes even among most of my friends I can't help but feel invisible
Ridiculed and the things I helped bring become dead and forgotten
God it's like I'm listening to myself give a review on that site with tomatoes that are rotten
I'm not scheming or plotting just looking for that lighthouse in the fog
Because I can't find inspiration in this mental planet of smog

I know I'm nothing, to you and to me
In fact if you did an X-ray you'd probably find a tombstone in my cold and dead chest cavity
I have tried resting but I can't do that reliably
Because my brain, while my most valuable ***** is sometimes, if not almost all the time 
My biggest liability
My inability to remember is very hard to forget
Forged in foggiest messes is maybe where my head is currently set
I'd go to my own world but I'd be driven mad by being alone
I don't know what to do and what to look for in my own zone...

Hot and sweaty
Nothing pretty but you
Just good old fashioned raw backing  in the bed under the fan with nothing but our hormones and hardness and wetness to keep us company
Your curvaceous body is so scintillating in this summer heat and your hot little hole fit for a pole
Summer is great  because I love it when you let me take control

Summer sexiness...