Sing a song.
Make it sad.
Cause I'm crying without.
These meds.
It's too early to fantasize about.
Success.
But I welcome the return.
Of emotion.
Even though.
My past isn't something.
I can deal with.
Right now.

Without the chemical lobotomy.
I'm depressed.
Everything has a personal meaning.
That I remember.

So I just have to push past.
This.
Incoherent mass of.
Feelings.
That were muted and benign.
Before, but not now.

Now they're prescient.
My tears well up within me.
And my flat effect is replaced.

By a deep tragic sadness.

I desire a long.
Resfull sleep.
That I don't wake up from.

Some kinda self similar.
Fractal pattern.
That grows in one dimension.

Slumber until I'm consumed.
By moss and other.
Lichen.

Sleeping beauty found his rest.
And rots.
As all lovely things turn to dust.

Receding into darkness.
As somethings playing.
Theta wave thought contractions.

I slept through.
My reason to live.
Somehow ended up in.
Here.

Apparently I'm resilient.
Resistant to the drug induced coma.
I find myself in every night.
Vivid dreams I don't want to leave.

Did I see you in there?
In my kaleidoscope nightmare.
These ashen memories are indistinguishable.
From my dreams.

I may have known you.
In real life.
But I can't tell.
Cause the passing chaotic visions.

Rouse me from my.
Slumber.

The sun is up and it blinds my sight.
With
all this snow.

A flashbang grenade went off.
As my eyes water and recoil in pain.
At the brilliance of the light.

I am bathed in blindness.
Glaring on the horizon.
The oppressive omnipresent light.
That binds me to walk blindly.

I'm praying for dirt, something to break up the glare.
Of the sun reflected from the ground.
Directly into my eyes with a luminescent halo.

It's refracted.
Yet I don't see a rainbow.
I just lurch along the road.

What if all this misery.
Was as simple.
As getting the dose.
Right.

I'd be aghast at the stupidity of it.
If it were true that.
These doldrums.
I keep wallowing in.

Were just a balance of
Neurochemicals.
In my brain.
That I never got.
Quite right.

Maybe the despair was less poignant.
Less precise.
Than an equal measure.
Of a bitter pill.

Where does my inspiration go.
For these bleak little snapshots.
Of my private life.
These odes to anihilation?

I might have to start.
Writing vague love poems.
Again.
About some eponymous woman.
I've never met.

So, let this dopamine and norepinephrine.
Sing me to my sleep.
As I start to like.
Waking up.

It's all unfolding.
So catastrophically well.
That sometimes.
These warcrimes.
Seem justified.

But, that's just the rotting over.
Of my moral life.
Getting beyond good and evil.
Some Zen enlightenment.

And,
The acceptance.
Of life how it is.
What's possible.

And,
How you can.
Get it.

Gets muddied up in the graveyard.
Of ideology.
As my opportunistic spirit.
Keeps telling me.

Less is better.

If none can't be.
Achieved.

Down here in the coolies.
Right down by the slough.

I sit.

In the mud and ***** things.
Exasperated in my exhaustion.
Lying among dog tails and sweet grass.
Spear grass and hand picked sage.

And, let this smoke carry my sacrifice.
To the spirts.
And may they dim the sun.
So it doesn't beat down on me so.

As the sun turns orange.
Pink.
And red.
The sunset.

Announces the coming.
Of the cool night air.

And, I see Hugin and Munin.
Or, is it just raven.
In pairs.

And I know Odin.

Is watching.
But I always mix these mythologies up.
Even though they're so common.