music becomes mucus, leftover remnants
of bacterial infections that refuse to vacate
my brain no matter how many decongestants
i consume, those sound waves reverberate back
and forth and back and forth within my thick
*** skull and i am driven mad by memories

how to cut tender wires intricately woven into
the most simple mass of a mess you will ever see

i find myself muttering solutions in my sleep and
when i reach conclusions i'm already half awake
pen in hand, paper on chest, but ahh, it's gone, it's gone

my dream world holds more clarity than my walking
daze and i can only find the words for poetry, my
tongue and throat are revolting, refusing to take part
in walks down memory lane, fingers soon to follow suit