Fear ensconces me
In a shroud of apprehension.
But the motion is automatic
And, I don't feel good.

So, once more down the hatch.

Here's to poor choices.
Here's to euphoria.
Here's to metaphors without
Substance.

But I never liked the visuals,
Or unity,
Of a hallucinogen or pretty poesy poetry.

I'm made for speed,
Impulsive decisions.
Jagged, high tension
Visceral subjects.

Uncoordinatedly bleeding out my soul.
Through spaced out eyes
And overconfidence.

I am
Impossible symbology,
Ill defined,
Visceral and feral.

Strung out on life,
Picking at the neurosis,
Of once more into the breech.

And, what is life.
But chemistry?