It’s not anxiety,
My heart’s beating pretty slow,
Yet my cheeks are on fire
And my ears won’t lessen the flow.
It’s all burning,
But I’m too tired to move.
Please burn me down if you want,
I won’t complain if it’s all gone
Too soon.

i can't sit still
i can't lay down
i can't sleep

there is no time for rest
there is no time for play
there is no time

there is so much i must do
there is so much i must do
there is so much i must do

what i've done is not good enough
what i've done is not enough

i have to do more
i'm so tired but i have to do more

no sleeping
i'll sleep when i've done what i must do

i don't know what i must do
but i know i have to do it
whatever it is
and then i'll be content, right?
right?





right?

Rectangular
Nothing in particular
Just a tiny nasty thought
Trying hard to fit it in
With some thoughts, triangular
And some loops, circles of sort

All the time my mind just crunches
Like a puzzle , crack that code
And the sweat and the headache
Going on throughout the night

And once I am finally done
I destroy everything, cold
All memory of it gone
And it start once more, again

The bones scream
Hard
Louder than the night

The mind dances
Obsessed
Round some trivial thoughts

The body burns
Alarm
No sweat can **** the flames

Insomina
The eyelids close
When morning opens eyes

Nails that rake
far across closed backs,
mind's all but grinding teeth,
granting rings of thyme, and smoked thin
it shrieks amongst feathered
patience.
Jaundice all sentiment,
and rack my nerves
a blaring sparking
mess
for I brand my black grin
like a whiskey bottle brown
found, but in gutter glinting
fevers-- down swims my nerves.

All caught up in autumn's breeze
Rosy pink blossoms along her cheeks
She’s feverish

Bare feet, cold against the pavement
Face framed by undone waves and
She’s feverish

Hair down to her hips
Her hands in fists
She’s feverish

And that fever is you

Sweltering delirium
I want to unwrap my skin
This fervor consumes me.
On the prow of this boat
I gaze into the terminator
Dividing open air and rain.
A stoked frenzy
I want to flush this flush
In numbing chill.
A temporary calm in me
As the temperature drops
But this fever has less chance of breaking
Than the clouds.

Now I lay me down, in bedlam—
nighttime stories never end well—
and I can’t think to breathe,
the sweat is soaking through the sheets.

Streetlamp lights send shadows skittering
wild and wicked through the blinds; they
cast themselves like hieroglyphics
upon my walls: (is this a sign?)

But no, it’s just a fever dream,
I’ve seen these lights a hundred times, and
I’m always contemplating life:
(a radar blip; a satellite!)

On nights like these,
when, wide awake, I
hysterically search for some escape—
(the heat in here is overwhelming!)
–and as I feel my center slipping,
I look to you; your picture framed.

Grounded in an iris, carved—
or crystallized—out of ice,
(my favorite way to meet destruction
is to be frozen when it starts).

But Frost was right, in his desire—
(you know, the world will end in fire)—
and so I will not sleep for days,
as hidden flames rise ever higher.