Burn baby and give me some sulphuric hydrochloric acid smoke,
your fire gives me toasted tiktox and crisps me up nicely.
Boom goes the roof when 55 gallon drums go flying and it’s all ballistic.
The money shot is when the boss’s office goes up like a frigging rocket.
He was sat at his desk and went to the moon.
Chemical Ali won’t be coming back anytime soon.
Question is where is his ten million dollar profit?
Was it hidden in an empty oil drum on a pallet of dangerous chemicals?
All the factory is ablaze, three workers died and two were injured.
They should have got blood money for working there,
no risk to life was greater and no boss more meaner.
As flames reach a hundred feet and smoke a mile in the sky,
hindsight is way too late.

A writer
in love
puts all
the effects
of recreational
drugs
to shame
A writer in love
levitates
A writer in love...
Oh God Have Mercy
for pen shall burn on paper

You’d think that demons and devils don’t exist
And that humans, once passed, would lay asleep
You can come to my office and see for yourself
But, my patients love visitors that they can keep
I don’t want to alarm you, but it is true
These patients crave souls, not pills
I can’t get them to swallow chemicals in oblongs
They can’t be satisfied with just prescription refills
You might think I’m doing honorable work
Maybe not, but at least I can deal with them
So you don’t have to,
That sort of behavior, I always condemn
Who were you wanting to visit again?
Oh, I forgot, you were the one with symptoms.

Do peaceful moments just come of their own accord?
How much influence does stimuli have on contentment?
Cant be purely chemical.
Serotonin, cortisol, norepinephrine.
Like everything in life.....trying to find a balance with far to many variables.
An educated guess. A fun chemistry experiment, this life.
States of mind...

111016

to my dear heart.
    
    Are you still there? I do miss you so very much. this vacancy hasn’t been taken and I’m not looking to fill it with anyone else’s. (but if we’re being real, who would want to give me their heart anyway, I’d probably break it)


to my love.
    
    where did you go? it’s so very cold without you. I don’t seem to feel as much anymore and I’m yearning for a feeling. something. (other than this superglue sadness) I still don’t know how to get this sadness off my shoulder, you were the one that always helped. Please come back. (being honest, i miss you more than the others)


to the glimmer behind my eyes.

    what killed you? was it that illogical mess that controls the rest of you. was it that demon named anxiety feasting away in the night that kept your eyes glued to the ceiling where light never crept. (but let’s be logical. you have the light unless it it’s the sun’s first or last breath, and you can’t bear that anymore either)


to my brain.

what the **** are you doing? I know you’re bad with chemistry, but please figure out the imbalances. it’s too much of something or not enough of another and it’s getting me more and more ****** up everyday. I’m not suppose to be this sad, do you know that?
I’m not supposed to be this sad.
there’s no reason (though, sadness is your muse and she is the most beautiful disaster)


to myself- as a whole entity.

    I hope you know it’ll be okay at some point. I hope you find some source of happiness, love, warmth. I hope you find that someone that __________.


to death.

    this tunnel is too long to have no light at the end.

Taking medication may be fastening together the seams that could split. Between SSRI, HRT, and caffeine the moments speed, fleeting before I secure my grip. What's the point of living as a zombie losing opportunity through barely there fingers? I can be **** for you, I'm fond of pleading on my knees, tongue over my teeth, waiting patiently for my mouthful -- but what's point? What would it solve to introduce a controlled study meltdown? Well, I see the seasons coming at first light. Spring and Fall pull balance apart. So pull apart, because these meds don't help when my mind conspires without me, but with the world. Leave me alone. I'm caught gazing at the canvas in the white on walls. If it appears I'm choking, I am. I choke myself to gasping near to death as a means to depart from my leaden regret. Do I grow wings? No. Do I ascend? No. Do I myself then deify? No. It takes endlessly repeated little deaths to prevent permanent disintegration in passion's cruel flame.

Our love is
like a polaroid
picture. We let

Time and Chemicals
do their work. Yet

my love,
the picture was
taken long
ago.

"The fumes alone could **** you," is what he told me in response to my joke gone wrong.


"Oh really?" I said. "That explains a lot."

Maybe that's why it smelled so pretty.

"Who would love such a
toxic conundrum?"
I whispered in the early
hours of my existence,
starting as a lukewarm
substance,
gazing into my pristine heart,
my empty core.

Then the fate of life saw to it;
to stain my skin and give
my emptiness a name;
Hurt,
no.
Ignition, match,
or maybe their hands.

I can't tell when those things
had a distinct identity
and didn't just seem to be
my heart twisting and
my core splitting,
soaked in chemicals,
all mixing.

There are cigarette lighters
everywhere you turn,
they look like brown eyes,
rough hands and vinyl collectors.
But I realize I am something
to be inhaled;
choose dying over pleasure,
give me your utmost devotion,
touch me as I burn.