Tired of the itch,
tired of the chase
looking for what I don’t have
while the world
goes down in flames,
making excuses about
how it’s ingrained,
when all it really takes
is discipline
mixed with a little bit of
pace

Still,
I hover in the wind,
let me float back through
the wild fields of dopamine
where we all still take refuge
inside of a haze,
fearing truth,
destroying self-worth
to secure
temporary comfort

My energy
is frozen in time,
it siphons into everyone I touch
with each heavy hearted step,
forging the very culture
I am certain
is the reason life is so hard
because I’ve seen the depths
of my own broken parts
and still hear a voice
in the back of my head
ring out:

“If reality
is set in stone by
how you perceive,
and you can see
the endlessness of it all,
then why do you set store by
any so-called beliefs?
Isn’t that just
habit underneath?”

trying to get a little dopamine—
In somebody’s lap.

Flashbacks.
Shivering.

Hands,
        hands,
              hands.

Distraction after another distraction,
Chasing dopamine but it’s fleeting.
My failure to take any real action,
And patterns go again repeating…

Sitting with it would be better-
Creating space with each exhale-
But instead, I seek quick pleasure,
Can I escape from this mental jail?

With each transient gratification,
Receptors meet a chemical reward.
Producing less natural generation-
I just want my brain restored.

what makes us beautiful? printed notes sanctioned by the government? three layers of plastic that attaches to the skin. electricity that runs in your spines, blue rays invading your lonely night. a night where jasmine’s weep because you’ve lost sight of their existence.what makes us beautiful? pixelated rays emitting diodes of dopamine. colours and colours of chrome attached to screens. what makes us beautiful, then? 360 degree surveillance across borders and borders of human civilisations. what makes us beautiful then? maybe a solitary ray of sun as it wraps around your face at dawn? but how would you know that, as you’re doused from the pixels of yesterday, making you numb enough to make sleep through the morning.

i heard them say it's bad to push away the negativity
under the blanketing embrace of a nice evening drink
but my mind isn't well and my time seems at an end --
do i really have a problem when i worry that i'm the problem?

do i need to abide by the constructs those i do not know
have created for people like me to stand beside and follow
despite the everyday occurrences that warrant the attention
of those who sit and wait and do not listen?

shall i walk my way down this narrow street
under the dimming streetlights as cars pass me by
just because that's what's supposed to help me survive?

or perhaps i should visit the dwindling spaces
occupied by those paid to sit and listen
to the life stories of those they do not know?

shall i trust their intentions and pray for remission
of these symptoms that never seem to fade?

no -- instead, i think i'll bask in this sun
and reach my quivering hand to the right
to pick up my drink tilted on its side
and press it to my lips to taste the bitter embrace
of this warm can of serotonin and dopamine.