Words, while being paths of study,
Can't lead to oneself, for the intellect
Can't lead, as life doesn't follow.  
The corporate structure's convolution's
Devolutionary direction differs.  Stray
Not from your heart path: you being who,
What, where, when, how, and sometimes
Why, forever asked, and unanswered.
Viva la Evolucion, viva la Green Party.

I saw a psychic
for the first time in my life;
it was horrifying.
She audibly observed
the tremendous pain in my eyes
and somehow picked out
the simultaneous emptiness and confusion
that I feel welled up inside of me.

She went on,
pinpointing my chaotic last four years,
me, struggling to find identity, and
looking for it in material possessions
and other people.
Telling me of my father's stubbornness,
and how that's not all I inherited from him.

I was scared;
because every word sputtered
exposed the innermost parts of me,
and spoke razor-sharp truths
to whatever it is that inhabits my core.
And she told me,
foreboding and omniscient,
I could overcome these troubles
if I find god again
and in that moment,
I felt that she might
be right.

But the worst piece of knowledge
she bestowed upon me,
was to stop looking for love;
instructing me to cease the search
that I've become accustomed to.
And I hate that
she's probably right.
And on the drive home from downstate
I prayed she wasn't,
because that would mean
even more years alone
with myself,
and I don't know
if I could endure it.

black and fuzzy and walking through a vivid nightmare of things moved around and skewed. rushing and a sharp zephyr that grazes your skin and rustles your hair. its incredible. there is bright light. burning my retinas and pushing on my brain.

i walked around again last night. pulsing in the temples and sniffing e+++rs or whatever you call them now. the urge to binge boils in the pit of my stomach.

infinite visions of infinite timelines of infinite versions of me and myself and everyone around me. my bougainvillea froze and slowly obliterated my memory. the page turns and the blur comes to wipe out the color from my eyes, shut now, fractals danced and the phosphenes came. then stuttering im coming out of it. what?

is this? what is this? another shallow poem that considers itself? low art on the internet begging to go viral? an avant garde approach at a genre begging for something new? just a puff of smoke?

the yellow is nice it takes the sterility of my surroundings the color of it all drained and depleted. at night I choose the sterility and let the colors sharpen and blast.

the smell of earth. that dirt and wind smell from the rain and the loamy soil. the imagery and lucidity glows in the background. feeding on my periphery. come and whisper with me.

Inner voice, hello, there you go again
You come and you go but your usually the same
You know so much yet I still distrust
Listen to you intently now this is a must

Intuition,gut feelings, higher power and more
I hear you, I feel you, deep down in my core
It's a gift that you were given aged five
That gift you were given, it's kept you alive

It's taught you some lessons, both good and bad
It's helped your emotions, both happy and sad
It's made you quite blunt, you call what you see
Losing friends and lovers, that feeling is key

A form of protection, an inner radar
knowing things that others don't, especially from afar
Energy and vibes also known as sixth sense
You're lucky to have this gift but your ******* intense