The.
Sun.
Has.
Burnt.
My.
Hangover.
Into.
My.
Soul

I'm.
Gasping.­
For.
Air.

With.

Leather.
Backed.
Lungs.

And.
Baby.

Maybe.
Yo­u.
Got.
Me.
All.
Wrong.

As.
I.
Lurch.
Forward.

Or.
Lay.
Down.
A­nd.

Fade.

Into.
The.
Bleeding.
Days.

Where.

Yesterday.
Became­.

Today.

In.
The.
Sunset.

With.
Nausea.

Everyday.

I struggle.
To find.
Basic.

Motivations.

To live.

Other.
Than.

Drugs.

Today.
I feel.
Like.
I don't.
Wanna
See.

Tomorrow.

With.
Cognizant eyes.

My utopia.
Of.
Endless release.

The.
Hope.
For.
Annihilation.

Just one day.
Of.
Non.
Existence.

Forever.

Sing.
Me.
A melody.

And make it.
Out of tune.

Off.

Key.

One day.
I'll.
Wake.
Up.

And.
This.

Will.
Make me.
Happy.

And none of the things.
You've ever.
Done to me.
Will.
Hurt.

None of the loss.
The good byes.
To people.
Who were.

Never.
Really there.

And I'll dance.
In that fantasy.

Coming.
Back.
To
Something.

I.
Tried.
To.
Love

Everything.
Seems so.
Pointless.

As though.
Nothing.
Improved.

Years spent.
Refining.
My writing.

For what?
Comments.

Live chats.

Everything.
Transitionary.
Liminal.

Passions.
Are what.
You can't stop.
Doing.

Even if you think it's futile.

It feels like something.

Serious.

Is creeping behind my perceptions.
Ruining the high I do got.
Stalking me.
Hunting me with the  ever present concern for.
Withdrawal symptoms.
The Police.

Any sort
of calamity.

And, is there enough euphoria to power me through this doldrums.
But, that's my prerogative.
Guilt and shame arise in my subconscious.
Cause I keep getting an intrusive thought.
That the  cops are coming.
Someone knows something.
I'm dying.

Or
have I transcended.

Early in the morning.
Or is it late last night.
These oft regretted amphetamine psychosis nights make me mourn my potential.
I never get hopes,
I get dichotomous thinking.
Everything horrible.
All the time.

I'm stuck in a quick frustration, a whistling electrical circuit sings its high pitched swan song to the epilogue of  my life.
And right here.
And right now

Time has told me that
This is more superfluous stress.
I don't need.

High as ****.
Time suspended in the liminal prison of temporary thoughts.
My consciousness overwhelmed with drugs I don't even like.
The euphoria  is nice and I think I had somethinng profound to say.
I've forgotten that I was even alive.
I have slain time and am not worrying about trauma and  failure.
My own personal psychoactive nirvanna.
Stuck in a trance state.

But, the speed orders me on.
I have many incoherent rants to make.

I have so many.

Incoherent and vague things.
To say.