my mind may have layers
stairs and levels
twisting
and turning
halls and rooms
but don't be fooled
my mind is not
a building
my mind is not
a home
in fact
my mind
is where i get
lost the most
I can't find refuge
not even in my own head

Anorexia is not collar bones.
It is the smell rotting of flesh as you dismantle your body bit by bit.
Anorexia is not a thigh gap, it is your knees so weak they shake as you fall to the ground.

Anorexia is not self control. It is the feeling of utter hopelessness as your life tornados into a blizzard of nothingness.

Anorexia is not fashionable. It is your mother’s sobbing eyes as she sees her child dying
Anorexia is not 80 pounds. It is the weight of a thousand pulsing suns on your shoulders.
A thick black cloud in your mind, and rules spelled out like chains pulling you towards the ground.
No matter what measure of gravity that you have in this earth, it still hurts, it’s still real.
So to you 'pro anas' who so blindly say 'hunger hurts, but starving works' think before you act.
Suffering is an addiction, please do not harm yourself with this affliction.
- *Emily Ward

This is an ode to Adderall,

that wonderful mixture of

dextroamphetamine sulfate

dextroamphetamine saccharate

amphetamine

aspartate monohydrate

and amphetamine sulfate capsules

that all combine together

to form a prescribable pill

questionably similar to the Schedule II controlled substance street drug

commonly refered to as "Speed."


This is an ode to the children

who are bundles of energy caged in a classroom

incapable of concentrating

on the miniscule tasks given to them

by pedagogical authorities that

promise societal success and economic happiness

to those who complete their work on time

without a fuss or a doubt as to why they're

filling in bubbles on paper in the first place.

The confused children who watch

as others with calmer brains

fixate eyes on textbooks

rather than out the window.


This is an ode to Society

deeming these individuals as broken

choosing to wound then medicate

rather than proliferate.

That took their inquisitiveness

and locked it in a book with the label "DISORDER"

stating that you will never be anything

unless you think and feel the same way we do.

And much like a mad doctor

lobotomizing those whom he thinks insane

they synthesized a pill

to dampen a torrential brilliance

allowing them to place their sedated children

back in the box where they belonged.


This is an ode to the college students

chained by academic standards

expected to excel towards great things

if only they reach that ethereal diploma.

The students who crave the artificial focus

the increased capacity for concentration

with the broadened spectrum of perception

the sense of purpose in the tedium

the ungodly ability to think clearly

and perform the meaningless tasks they expect of us.

The students who go through illegal means

to purchase said drug

to swallow or snort

and dive back into the mountain of responsibility

with a new found sense of productivity and motivation.

An ode to the students

unable to find purpose in studenthood

the ones who find more virtue in watching the sunset

burn clouds into firework oblivion

before then blessing us with uncritical night.

An ode to the students

who discover more education

in climbing to the top of a mountain

and yelling a nonsense decree of passion

just to watch the echo

bounce from shore to shore

in cathartic reverberation.

The ones

for which our pill

is the only possible manner

of assigning purpose to purposeless assignments.

These are the ones

who must binge

cram for days before

the big exams

going whole nights without sleep

or food.

The ones slowly cracking under the increasing pressure of academia

spending more time questioning why they must complete their homework

instead of actually completing it.


This is an ode to my brothers and sisters

who stand in horror at the mold we must fit into

crafted by an unknown unshakable entity.

The ones who lost the appeal of cookie-cutter success

in exchange for a small understanding

of the way things really work.

The cogs that twisted off the machine

and now sit lotus-posed in the corner.

My fellow birds with broken wings

still expected to fly.

My fellow carpenters expected to build their estates

yet not given the proper tools to do so.

The ones of cursed cold clarities

perfectly capable of clutching

those fifteen minutes of dynasty

yet refrain from doing so due to

the immaculate futility of it all.


This is an ode to a drug induced rant

that no one will read

the one that I chose to write

instead of doing my **** homework in the library

like a compliant student.


This is an ode to the pressure-oriented procrastinators

that delay and yet again delay

their petty necessary obligations due to purposeless and exhausted motivation.

Swallowing substances to summon some sort of incentive

to fill in the bubbles

and cater to the Society they find so confusing

the ones who only under influence of synthesized chemicals

find reason to squeeze into that culturebox

that cascades down a bumpy man-made conveyor belt

branding a diploma onto your forehead

injecting an occupation into your veins

transforming your pupils to dollar bill signs

demanding you breed children

to do the same as you have

and you'll never be happy unless you do these things

right?


This is an ode to those who reside in the shadows

of our broken social system

and conjure up great conversations

pertaining to everything and nothing

that are as wonderful and necessary

as the prints of your fingers

caressing down a comfortable torso

just before the sun rises

the untouchable indescribable realizations of life and love

that are completely irrelevant in their eyes

but are entirely necessary for our survival.


This is an ode to the overwhelming feeling of love

greatly exacerbated by a pharmaceutical delight

whereupon connections with other humans

become both incredibly appealing and oddly magnetic

for a few electric hours.

The oxygenating satisfaction felt

the instance just after the small talk architecture masks

fall to the floor

and right before we put them back on.


This is an ode to the minutes before the amphetamine crash

where the world still doesn't make sense

but we briefly don't mind

because a few fleeting moments of energy and purpose

in this otherwise detestable confine of reality

are all you can really ask for

as you complete the assignments

then step outside

to smoke yet another cigarette (they're absolutely wonderful on Adderall try it some time it'll **** you slowly but then again what won't?)

only to witness our Sun

breeding fire clouds in the east

illuminating the Western Abyss into purple-gold spectral oblivion

and in consequence therefore

between puffs of a necessary cigarette

you grin to yourself in quiet victory.


This is an ode to misaligned priorities

to those who when walking to everimportant final examinations

think not of the curriculum beaten into their skulls

but take careful measure to step on every crack on the sidewalk

who stare not towards the future

but to the beautiful reflection reflecting back from the broken mirrors

that are the weary days and weary ways

of this curious existence.

To those when stepping into the absurd spotlight of Society

unapologetically proclaim:


"Though I must play your game,

you will never win."

Dear Academia;
I took the adderall
because I thought
you wanted me
to be a machine.  I didn't
understand that
amphetamine tasted
like candy once you
got used to the way
your jaw locked and your
ears rang.  Dear
academia, did you
see my face when you
read my GPA, did
you see the way I stayed
up too late after my
after school activities
trained me to live with
anxieties?  Dear academia,
why am I afraid of the mirror?
Why did you teach me how
to write a perfect paper but
never prepared me for
the look in his eye when he told
me he didn't love me either.  Dear
academia, i'm ******* and you're
swallowing me, does the sting
of your impulses feel better
when you know you're eating
my hard earned money?  
Dear academia, why
do you give me empty promises?  Why
should I spill my blood with
this diploma, list
my ethnicity and birthdate
next to the insignificance
of what you think makes me
worthy, do
these details feed your
impending due dates or
are you just getting off
to the idea that
only the educated few
know how to
think straight?  Dear
academia,
I tried my hardest
to let you fool me, I
can feel your ego fattening
beside me as I watch your
children scramble for their
ideas of monetary
gluttony.  You're increasing
our wage gaps, do my late night
tears fuel your addiction to epistemic
poverty?  Dear academia, you
taught me to think critically.   I am on fire
with the matches you forgot
you hatched within
me.  Scorpions occasionally
eat their parents and I hate
to admit that this ****
has me hungry.

Temperamental Times 1
Haiku by Serenus

All the leaves turn brown
When Summer trips and Falls down
Spring screams, Winter frowns



Temperamental Times 2
Haiku by Serenus

Spring and Summer brawl
The death of them both brings Fall
Winter revives all



Temperamental Times 3
Haiku by Serenus

Oh what a ******
It is the end of Summer
Soon Winter’s slumber



Temperamental Times 4
Haiku by Serenus

Middle of the road
A war between Hot and Cold
Spring and Fall takes hold



Temperamental Times 5
Haiku by Serenus

Heat, Wind, Rain, Earth, Ice
The elements of real change
The origins of life


Temperamental Times 6
Haiku by Serenus

Rain washes the pain
While wind stirs the soul within
And time brings sunshine