I read and read but the words do not stick
trying to forge a path but the plants are too thick
my brain fills with mist, my days i reminisce
i was simple before the downloads
now i etch the voices of my mind into the poetry i write
so i shuffle my tarot cards laced with divine
now is never the time, they say, i fray
i am fickle, riddled with adversity
i am tickled by you thinking you deserve me
a dinner date and you expect to open my legs
i say my thoughts but they get lost in your primitive state
ephemeral, see me through the lens of withdrawal
chemical, plentiful, ego mixed with alcohol

inside the surreptitious
facilities
they're conducting quite disturbing
activities

were the greater public to know  
what was going on at these
places
they'd certainly be wearing
very worried
faces

keeping the people in
the pitch of
dark
being the custom of the chemical
and bio-weapons
lark  

some nations are presently developing
a stockpile of
capacity
that maybe used on a population
with the intent of
hostility

Your name on Yellow

Labeled biohazardous

I drank like Alice

Blinded by disease I lost sight of you.

Your words spoken by the voice of my demon.

I felt your love, though the intentions got twisted.

Your touch, familiar yet foreign.

I'm losing it again, reality.

My mind, a place of dark whispers.

A brain chemically imbalanced.

How could taking two little white pills every morning
slowly but surely resolve eight years of major depression
ameliorate symptoms that strangle the mind and spirit,
destroying self-worth, competency, basic functionality.

Despite a set-back of a month of unstable, barely restrained
suicidal thoughts, whole-heartedly consuming every minute
of conscious thought and shattering already severely fragmented
sleep, the only repose from the onslaught of endless thoughts
each one affirming deservance and supplying means to an end.

The vile depression, mind-warping, heart-marring, shape-shifting,
perspective-rearranging, adapting to every new environment,
clawing its nightmare-grip further into my chest day after day,
haunting me even in its remission: the depression was sinister.

Body and brain scarred and healing, starved synapses react,
a regiment of medicine, taxing-thought, and long-scarce love,
but indisputably vital: taking two little white pills every morning
slowly but surely resolves eight years of major depression.

A brain chemically balanced.

If love is a chemical imbalance, I'll always be dizzy for you

In the morning,
alone,
I plant a pill
on my tongue,
and it blooms
like a chemical kiss

In the afternoon,
I wash my face and
wounds with blood

At midnight,
the rain pours
on my pillow,
but I don’t weep

Every night,
I sleep in the burning house,
but cannot feel its warmth