If only I could catch the butterflies
            that were collecting within me...

But every wing collected  further away
             from what is meant to be spelt...


If only I could catch the words that
             were flying further apart...

But every consequence  is woven in the past,
            we collect ourselves on moments...

If we did that, no matter the reactions,
          we would be stuck in a static repetitive past...

Do I take a clonazepam
Do I take a seroquel
Do I take the new antipsychotic
Tight skin
Tight skin
Tight skin
If i smoke **** do I long term fertilize my paranoia
Is there a way to live without sedation
Tight skin
Tight skin
Tight skin
Agitation
Irritation
Sensitivity
Anxiety
Paranoia
The collective static of the tension spots

Internal screaming
Waiting for the clonazepam to kick in

the truth is missing.

a whole town looks

for traces of your

orange red brown hair

after you vanished into

another plane.




the truth is questionable.

you don't know where you are

or how you breathe

or where your flesh and muscle and bones

and wounds have washed away.

was it the other side

or this side?




the truth is stuck.

you push every wall of thin air

and you find that it

is endless.

you shouldn't want to leave.

you can't.

11:02pm

"Goodnight".
The most consistent lie I ever say
When I pretend to sleep
But all I can do is lie awake thinking and thinking.

Why am I still up
In a corner of a room in darkness,
Headphones blasting silence
My thoughts louder than the world.

Static noise filled with jargon
Nothing
A computer screen sitting quietly
And a kid whose mind is on the run.

High pitch community
From one single tone
Can go from home
To a killing floor

Made all the more harrowing
Toxic trauma of the mind

Freeze up they said

Yet we push on
And we pushed hard
We pushed it too far
Then let down our gard

And now the lights flicker from green to red
A premonition of bloodshed
Locked inside the voice of
A brother or a friend
Neither one is talking now

Survive it says
Static cuts through
And the line drops dead
Outside my head the night goes on
Cheery faces basking in the light
Permissive out of innocence

Enjoying spite out of spite
Who is right
It doesn't matter
My eyes burn bright
But no one can hear

Screams are echoed all around
But transaction leaves my words devoid
Bliss is heard amiss, above
We coveted and now we pay

The price of our sin

My eyesight is fuzzy
My thoughts are static;
Tonight's show is on:
Depression and Madness.

To you, I seem unmoving

I'm alive
I'm asleep
I am subtly incomplete
My body
Is curled around the dried honey lake
I am static
Far beyond the dried honey bees
Because to you I seem unmoving
And to me I'm everything
Static
But my brain is buzzing
With thoughts
My body
Still works when I am still
Folded
Nursing the pain in the crevice of my hips
I am a seed
Sinking into soil
I will grow
But to you I seem unmoving
What will you say
When I become a tree?