A train leaves a station with a speed of 60mph
It accelerates to above the speedometer's capability.

Trailing through,
a path of flames scorching
innocent tinder.

The conductor peaks in the mirror
and there is no sight
of damage;
only clear paths.

Did the train go off tracks as it sped?
Only he can know when it halts.

One pill, two pill
Orange pill, blue pill
White beads, pressed ecstasy and some ****.

Gluttony, greed,
My real sin is debauchery.
Gram of this, gram of that
marred my memories, myelin mortuary.
Skin, bones, but no fat
I'll eat gelatin capsules that can only subtract.

Artificial enthusiasm in Walgreens jars.
Decadence lost opulence to tolerance of bars.
Still I solicit any alter:
self-indulgence for Bacchanalian revival.
Hedonism's propensity,
mankind's perpetual denial-
but not for I,
the lotus eater
with the omniscient third-eye.

8450 plus one. But you are always ahead of me by 84.
But this doesn't stop me from trying to catch up to you. I can try and fill those 120960 moments with my leaps over cracks in the sidewalk to reach your side.
Yet you've whispered to me, I'm not a digit over 7355. That you've watched the ticker count, and it announces every 1440 moments that  7355 has not changed for 1040 repetitions.  
I can hear in your exhale that staring at the defunct device has been in vain. That your desires, for it to be somewhere near your own 8534, are blatantly not occurring. I feel the heat of your blood as the rush fills your mind that if you stare any longer, your counter will pause too.
You tell me that there has been a problem regarding my recorder and there is nothing you could do because you had to tend to your own to ensure it wouldn't falter.
You don't know that I am a mechanic. And I diligently examine the mechanism. The gears for the face in mine have not been greased.
I had always just kept the clock wound - forgetting that it is useless for a watch to move forward, if it never displays the correct time.

I think I doubt myself too much
Or is it just a lack of faith in my heart
I think my mind won't let me be

I think it might be that I'm lazy
Or is it just an excuse
I think I keep allowing myself to get away with metacognitive ******

I think that I am strong
Or is naïveté catching up to me again
I think I am wrong on this

I think I need to slow down
Or am I just listening to people who can't catch up
I think I'm not fast enough

I think I believe in karma
Or do I just desire that the universe has a balance system
I think, logically, I just brought this upon myself

I think and act strategically
Or I don't and I move instinctively
I think I think too much

The truth is I keep lying to myself
The truth is I want to think I doubt myself
The truth is I hope I'm more than just this
The truth is I'd like to be on top
The truth is I think I might need external validation
The truth is I can't stop
The truth is I'm only human, no better or worse than anyone else
The truth is so are you
The truth is I'm not a runner but I keep sprinting away
The truth is gonna catch up to me

Purkyně lux lit lunatics conjure vignettes of geomancy.

There is mischief enchanting the wake: xenophagists fiending tricks.

For invokers, who bathe in moonlight, death is a good nights sleep.

Magnets;
lock and key;
and, the unsubtle,
bolt
and *****.
These are things that collide harmoniously and do not dispute

We are not such an archaic, mechanized metaphorical construct.

I feel us as primal,
torrid decadence;
a deliberate impassioned vulnerability:
an animalistic exposé.

Unfocused, infinite black holes
expanding
to be lost within

Quivering circle of solicitous, engorged fuchsia
steaming harsh,
needy
attempts of oxygen recovery

Soft powder snow
melting over olive tree trunks,

quaking with endless echoes resonating from beyond the hills above

A thunderous harbinger centers chaos,
rampaging gust-like vibration through taut roots,

a volcanic eruption.
Lava geyser

blazing till all energy
enthralls the earth.

What I see for us is a metaphor in nature.
I will be the seismic activity
and you
will dance above me.

Your world will collapse against me

in my relentless motions.

And when you stand again,
I will bring you to
your knees

in my aftershock
and show you strength that will move you mountains.

Rotunda of doors
Select an arbitrary gateway
Rotate a frigid bronze **** and dislodge
Gaze into an opaque, stone encircled realm
Proceed through the division
Inhale damp, stale earth
Hesitate in a moment of hair-raising atmosphere
Ignore and tread slow
Ignore the echo of the sole warmth emanating in rapid succession from within
Ignore the nagging to turn back
Do so anyways
Realize pupils dilate when the entrance is not visible
Debate possibilities
Feel pointless muscle movement pulling white eyes for stimulus
Exhale tension melting air
Whine and tread against small stalagmites
Extend palm forward and to the side
Grasp for sight
Grab nothing
Constrict throat down
Acknowledge and accept the situation
Continue onward
Stumble against a solid
Release pain
Trace the direction of hopelessness
Follow with purposeful motions
Brush against another impediment
Successfully avoid
Allow air to flow against dry tongue
Taste lifelessness and potential
Release resolution and determination
Gain momentum
Allow ears to beg for rays of sun
Decide resiliency
Pant and expend time
Sense vision assimilating
Investigate the environment
Crouch and take in the floor
Gasp and whimper
Behold bones
Three sixty and engage all faculties
Cower as truth speaks: labyrinth.
Lift chin and only stone above.
And collapse, collapse onto knees in dramatic fashion
With back arched over, hands grasping and pulling at hair
Fight against reality.
Terror eviscerates.
Submit on to the parasitic solid inorganic void.
Become more bones.