Our Minds affect the environment around us.
Different states of mind affect reality differently.
Perhaps this is why substances which have
different effects on our minds are illicit in
a world which demands constant control over our environment:

We are products of circumstance
but circumstance seems oft to be a product of us.
Most of what happens, we allow on some level.
As much as we like to play the victim,
we must acknowledge that we, for the most part,
are in control of our mental state.
A vortex of negativity polarizes and magnetically attracts more negativity.
Once we chose to be accepting and positive,
we attract more of the same... in theory.

She seemed so scared
  Waiting for my reaction
      What was the news that needed to shared
          Something big had occurred from a small action
             She can hardly stand
               She looked so hurt  
                  Just hold my hand
                    At the beginning i was just a big flirt
                      Now she's here with a little life
                         I cupped her face
                            We were both planning ahead and one day she could be my wife
                               We began a tight embrace
                                   Her parents thought it was terrible
                                      She is far too young to be a mother!
                                         I've never been in a situation to be comparable
                                           You're not my daughter!
                                              Not a girl
                                                Not even a boy
                                                   She looked like she was going to hurl
                                                       I love her she is not and will never be my toy
                                                          We would have celebrated
                                                              A little life, My little life, Our little life
                                                                  Now i'm the boy who her parents hated

It's that knotted ball of frustration that lives just behind my sternum
That drives me to do art.
It's like an itch you can't scratch.
It gets excruciating.
And you claw at other things, outside things,
Because you know you can't reach inside your chest and squeeze your heart until it caves in.
It's... sort of like that.
My art is all a release of this maddening...frustration
That I can't get to what I need to really dig out of me
No matter how hard I try.
The tension just builds up and builds up until it's paralyzing,
And then when I can't stand it anymore,
All this creation comes spilling out of me
In a futile
But at least active
Attempt to release whatever's trapped in my soul, rattling the bars.
It never works for long- I never breathe free for more than a second.
But a second
Is better than nothing.
That's why I never have time for anything:
My time needs to be spent
On those seconds.
Getting them,
Repeating them,
Sustaining them.
I need to devote all of my energy to relieving this pressure.
There is no room for anything else.

I'm not the One with a guilty conscience
I'm not the One with a lust for control
I'm not One to take such betrayal lightly
I'm not the One afraid to stand on my own

I'd much rather
get absolutely none
than get any from you

John Keats
John Keats
John
Please put your scarf on.