These lines experimental but elemental to your mental,
My creativity,
Will never submit to the minimal,
Isotopes subliminal penetrating the simple,
Similes send criminals to infiltrate your biochemicals,
Infected stanzas with stacked syntaxes sickness,
My subconscious semiautomatic and stimulated,
Formulate semblances of Leviathan illuminated,
It's a tragedy my soul's has become a victim of gravity,
Now my temples been raided,
My nirvana's disseminated,
And I've contemplated annihilation of self,
Picturing my end as a senile senior citizen,
With no one by my side,
My mind can't complete a sentiment,
Remembering has become my source of a smile,
But it's making me even more curious to taste the end of this projectile,

according to my mother happiness was a choice
religion country then family a fortress
and why was I so sad and cold
According to daddy at least
I wasn’t in Karachi where rats and corpses littered the streets
jesus bled a ******* lot in the streets of another city
and was my redemption
but how was he different from
another corpse?
how was
his blood and dissolution
different,
besides a better eulogizer?
He seemed to me
simply a man
a philosopher betrayed
by supposed friends
I did not find redemption in confirmation
of the knowledge of gold rimmed pages
and biased text.
Where I found divinity
was in the flesh and blood arms
of people that I vaguely knew
they held me together
while biochemicals
tore me apart from my moorings
and there were no lies
about salvation through death
they said only,
once you go,
you can’t come back.

Planet Earth . Creation . The perfect storm ? Miracle encapsulation of biochemicals or delivery from the Heavens above ? Millions of cells replicating upon organic matter no larger than the head of a pin ..The origin of life itself resting beneath our own skin ? Blood of mammal , hemolymph of insect , nerve cell of amphibian , skin cell of a pig ..The heart lung blood barrier of man , capillaries in the gills of fish .. Our gift of memory , albeit a curse at times , thought of mind and creativity .. Lust for blood , consumption of flesh , dominating spirit , insensitivity .  The hand that reaches for a flower , a fist driven into the face of an enemy ..Filled with love , life , intrigued with the mystery of creation one day , then hurtling over a cliff to your death the next ... Trillions of cells evolving , mutating , networking while the hallmark of life on Earth is busy de-foresting , polluting , selfishly consuming ! .......

Where do these words come from?
Where do the questions percolate?
Where does longing grow?
If only from the water and fat
of this brain.
But electrical impulses and biochemicals
have no meaning-
no poem.
What I want is a romantic answer,
A story I can hold close to my breast-
One that will satisfy the hole of endless questions,
paradoxes
and heartbreak.
One I can smile about over tea,
and laugh about
in open fields of long grass,
one that is made of
startdust
and songs.

We have a Baroness and a diplomat. They were a team in a global organization. And they had an affair. And both were addicted to something. She to ****** and he to saving the world.
She promised him to quit and he promised her to quit.
He promised to quit if she promised to submit to a clinic after he quit his world saving addiction.
She promised to enter the clinic if he promised to leave the world’s stage.
They sat in a hotel room and she says, for the time being you can use you diplomatic status and pouches to get me the brown sugar. He said, the world saver he was, that could be great cover, for the time being.
Diplomaniak, I love you. Baroness, you sweet Brownie, I love you.
So for the time being as it was nothing changed.
The diplo haggled and joked with the dealers. He had learned the trade from his parents who both had been junkies. So he bought the best of the best. The Baroness took it for granted she got the best of the best.
Pouches came and went and the diplo covered it all up with a crazy story. About them containing samples of biochemicals used in warfare. And used by him to expose rogue states. All to prevent exposing his rogue mate.
Dealers asked him, you on the sugar?
No, it’s for my sugar. I’m on a drop of whiskey and a puff of tobacco.
But then time being as it was something changed.
The diplo finally found a suitable successor.  One who wasn’t trying to save the world. The world decided it would do it’s saving it self.
So in came a peace loving and peaceful negotiator. A man who extended existing wars and supported starting new ones.
The Baroness booked herself into the clinic. The diplo visited her every day. This time without the sugar but with a bottle of crème de cacao for her and a drop of whiskey for him. The nurse expressly had forbidden any stimulants in the clinic, so the diplo used a different pouch. He bought a large chocolate box. Together they retreated to a secluded spot in the garden and enjoyed sips of their respective browns.
One day the Baroness said, I’ve got to tell you something.  I’ve fallen in love.
With whom?
With the nurse.
Well, that’s better than being married to the needle, said the diplo.
You don’t care?
I care a lot but only for you.
Her new lover barred him from visiting her.
But the diplo found a way around this. He mimicked the voices of her family members and got her to visit him in their usual hotel rooms. There they sipped their browns in secret.
But the time being as it was one of them died. And when that happened their last words to each other were that they stopped making promises to each other.