I call it poison, but perhaps you won't. These cold pressed apples, pineapples, and spearmint only paste more modge podge over my face as I schlack it on...gritting my teeth I light yet another cigarette, now that's 2 packs of Marlboro Red Labels now onto American Spirits Light Blue. Cancer isn't coming fast enough. I wish I would at least be ******* out my innards by now, I haven't even vomited, maybe I'll take that toothbrush I bought for you to use when you would stay the weekend, that I haven't gotten around to whitening the sink with. Maybe I can do that Sunday. FUUUUCCK!!!! I am not praying I make till then. I don't know if I can even breathe another hour like this. I haven't drawn a sober breath in years- I'm on the wagon, but I was just transferred from a wheel into the **** bag for a horse. Being ****- at least it's something I am used to (a sigh of temporary relief washes over me. Or is it finally the Nicotine buzz I've been hoping for since I escaped to the forest with an airplane bottle of Southern Comfort[Brainstem: South to the **-femalien crease that's been comforting all these years, where are you now?] , and a pack of my Uncle's cigarettes to find out the first time how to make the pain she's gave me go away.

Men drink essentially because they can no longer illicit their needs.

You who I wasn't even attracted to at first, where together we barely called [Brainstem: this is where I construct a motive for using a chainsaw to pick my nose with] . You who I can now remember the way a mixture of your hair, body spray, sweet sweat, and vintage knits began leading my nose and my memory towards one of the greatest happinesses and darkest times I have EVER had.

[Brainstem: I just hate him. The kind of hate you have for a mosquito, a person who encourages you to speed up while they're walking without reflectors or night-lights in the middle of the road at night with their dog- that kind of hate. The hate that has me smoking my cigarettes to their orange and gold filters, that has me staying awake, unable to touch my own **** because it's already started staying at someone else's place and looks like two Californian Prunes and a shriveled overcooked mini-hotdog does. The kind of hate that has me burping up what smells like rotten eggs or bial.

....Out of nowhere without anything but the image of a virginate 21 year old casing around my aorta, lying in my bed in just a pair of her Fuschia & White Victoria Secret striped 100% cotton ******* that ever so slightly crease inward into the creases where her skinny young legs meet the ever-so-bite-worthy crease....After our first official date where we knew we weren't going to **** each other but rather she was focused on her breathing hoping I wouldn't be able to notice how excited she was [Crime: #4] then step away and find an imaginary monster that challenges every thought I have, conversations and incidents and challenges and givers and receivers and lines and dots, darts, knives, life, and *** and blood faintly stained onto the bottom of the that 1 1/2" piece of fabric which is the biggest obstacle between us.

While I write, recall, remember and dictate and draft up this piece, I realize that I am not the lawyer visiting the killer in prison OR even the killer cruising around in a slightly rusted robin's egg blue Volkswagen Anti-Climaxer, I am not even part of the story anymore, after you decided it was acceptable to be so graphically forward with me (I take another Xanax that's beginning to be two an hour that I avoid taking) Interspliced are scenes from Dexter, versions of serial killer life, visions of this fake superstar with his **** out flailing around spurting a little streaky one shot of *** onto your tongue and in your mouth, or maybe you were plastered with it.

I just know it's good I don't have a gun, I could go for a bullet sandwich 9 times over about now. I never touched, discussed, abused, misused, lead on, flirted with; I never did anything unattractive with the exception of being a heavy smoker and a low-earner right now, but I see women even younger than you make better choices than you. In fact right now I believe you will not even breathe on me. But it's no matter I have the reconstructed skeleton of his severed body parts I let soak in hydrofluoro until I could pick away what little gum-like pieces of pink sinew are still left. (Dexter: The Sarge and The Lieutenant walk  out of the precinct at the same noticing each other.

Do you believe that I really handed over the upper-hand to you? I've never had someone begging to **** my **** on a Thursday and getting a fake celebrity ****** from an awesome artist. And what really ***** the hammer and lifts my limp **** and ****-ticket up to your pretty little mouth, is knowing that eventually you will have to be alone again, and the shine of this excitement will wear off, and then I TOO CAN PLAY THE GAME.

1. Time to light the cigars.
2. I present the Nicaruagan landscapers' body, George Marshall, who is better known as 'The Skinner."
3. I accept that you're going to think being honest about your most promiscuous moments is attractive to talk about. I certainly thought that, up until you That is.
4. No more chocolate cake, again.
5. Throw out the soda.
6. Start taking Amphet Salts and running away from home and into everyone I would've liked to kick with my foot, bare, filthy, and furious into their cheekboned. Then smear the bottom of my oily and baby-***, **** and inviting foot into your Hood until you spray like the five hundred other times you tell me you didn't. But even all this. This cell phone, this furniture, the awful sound of the train all night, the illusion and total manic state that puts diplopic faces of imaginary people between me and the rest of the world.

I need to know, do you even want to here this? Are you confused? What led you to come over or invite yourself here?

Pills, blade, play, or having that kid. But putting up with his ******* to be in the background of thought as someone while I was at home with his four kids. And I just relax then because, while I thought organizing the tower room to serve our primary guest of action was necessary when I looked at it so lit up by the buildings across the way shining their light through its atrium making all of the room much more suited for making art, writing and dancing. This is a huge handful of good-naturedness in a friend that can't seem to get off the phone and I must have to hid the monkey. I have to go to Walmart and return the monkey. I will...... and this is the biggest luxury, the hotel maintenance will even cover up my own series of murders or Dexters.

You believe me right sweetheart. You're my closest friend, but she is worn together and I just like the rings I own to be worn by you so that you don't get the idea to slip up and not just give me more anneurisms for my ****** up already head, or cancel the party, but really play that game and seee them cased out, otherwise I could be...a? A Cosmetic Manufact- "I believe in Freedom." You said.
"hahahaha", I can see that got you where you are today, postulating my grief by throwing self-care out the window and just judging me based on what you don't relate to instead of what you do relate to.

PS I know you didn't have time to let anyone know I was coming already? Until I snuck a peak and figured out you had been casing me the whole time from beginning to end to break me. But I'm not broken. I'm just not eager to be touched by anyone else of the ** form other than you for a minute. I also have time believing that while you were scared of me giving you your first ***-to-mouth experience while I stand you up in a skirt in the back of the school bus. And I can recognize tears of someone around us, and so I stand up and I recognize that it's my friend Stephen who is really (...is really, an imagined hologram of myself I invent to learn about myself in dreams, and other horrific events that my mind shuts down for, and no you're not the only 5' foot and 5" inch blonde haired ex of mine that performs from the camera but not for the eye. It will all come out in the wash regardless. I better to get goin.....I could write on and on and on and on about all of these multi-secular, uninhibited, depressing suggestions from the same bill my sister has to pay her Electric and Water monthly on, but I need to not sleep to make the need more. And even though I say the photo of her touching a single toe with a dead boring hell bent nobody Phillistine that could care less about her Grandfather being sick or her getting an STI or STD or if she is taken care of. But I do. I will. I don't stop being the good natured caring and and passionate person I am just because someone I really thought was going to take me an honest man, just taught me to be more meticulous in making sure I dispose of the body properly... But maybe she isn't playing pretend, maybe she's just another Fake Prada caught up in the mix.

The parasympathetic nervous system
is responsible for regulations
unconsciously transpiring
within the organs and
the glands of
the body.
Such as:
urination, salivation, digestion, defecation, and
lacrimation
(noun. ‘the flow of tears’. Latin.
from lacrimare (‘weep’) and lacrima (‘tear’).
It’s why I cry
even when I don’t want to.
You are the parasympathetic nervous system.

The (ortho-)sympathetic nervous system
is responsible for the mobilization
of the fight-or-flight response
and constantly maintaining
homeostasis within
the body.
It acts
rapidly, enacting an attempt at stability and
the necessary and critical ability
to suddenly escape
on pulsing legs or
cling to survival through
brandishing adrenaline-doused knuckles
and dilated pupils.
It’s why you live
even when you don’t want to.
I am the sympathetic nervous system.

The parasympathetic and sympathetic nervous systems
are two of three essential nervous systems which
compose the autonomic nervous system
(a part of the peripheral
nervous system)
that manages
involuntary
functions of the body. Such as:
swallowing, perspiration, arousal, breathing, and
heart rate
(noun. ‘the speed of the heartbeat’.
usually expressed in beats per minute. mine speeds up when I see you).
Individually these two systems oppose
but compliment
each other like our hands do—
pressed together and omitting equal force;
veins meeting
at the fingertips and throbbing at the wrists
but running amuck on our respective digits otherwise.
You are the invariable and unspoken reminder to
breath,
love,
sweat,
and live.
I am the sudden snap of reality always aiming to save you
but grudgingly willing to fight you and
ready
to
leave.

From the deepest lower half of my brainstem
and from every nerve
in my cycling body,
I’m sorry.
From all of my chromaffin cells
and from the truest parts of submandibular ganglian,

I am sorry.

Watching from beyond, writing their little notes.
Look behind the brainstem and see the past perfect present tense.
You thought about it and I heard it. We grabbed the thoughts.
New bones and muscle.
All the different ones, all the same thoughts pulsing, like brain radar bounding back.
They're of me. they're in me.
But he is not.
The serpent retains it's form but it stays inside. It blinds my dreams.
No escape, let craving; an eternal void.
As it all becomes one form and function. We join. We are the new being, hideous and beautiful.
I think he has taken my soul. I probably wasn't using it anyway.
I am his disguise.

They don’t put dead bodies in the wall anymore.  They put them in those walk-in coolers that they use in food service and they stay in there until the funeral home or the autopsy people come in and wheel them out and do whatever it is that they do.  But what happens if the cooler fills up and another patient dies—where do they go?  Outside of the cooler?  In the hall outside the morgue?  Left in the hospital room until there is an open space for them in the walk-in?  Or are they just not allowed to die in the first place?

Place a check mark next to the option that makes you the most uncomfortable:
• when dead bodies are still warm and growing lukewarm
• when dead bodies are ice cold.

You can survive two weeks on a ventilator before there is an increased risk of illness.  

Eula Biss writes that she does not believe that absolutely no pain is possible, that the zero on the pain scale is null and void.  I would like to say that I agree with her, but I have this stupid sliver of hope where I believe that towards the end of it all, everything will be everything and everything will be nothing at all.  I guess what I’m saying is that I would like to believe that when you are dying, you are a zero on the pain scale, but by that point in time, I supposed it doesn’t really matter anyway.

There is a strange, numb void that occurs when someone you love dies, but I am not sure if this could be rated as a zero or a ten on the pain scale.  Getting ****** into a black hole could either hurt very much or not at all.

The medulla oblongata, located as a portion of the brainstem, is the part of the nervous system that controls both cardiac and respiratory mechanisms.  If severe damage occurs to this center, death is imminent.  

After one minute of not breathing brain cells begin to die.
After three minutes of not breathing, serious brain damage is likely.
Ten minutes: many brain cells will be dead, full patient recovery is unlikely.
Fifteen minutes: patient recovery is virtually impossible.

A “thunderclap headache.”  A cerebral aneurysm that has ruptured.  A subarachnoid hemorrhage pushing blood and fluid down on my mother’s brain.  Grade five: deep coma, rigid decerebration, 10% chance of survival.  

In some hospitals, if a loved one has passed, the caregivers cut off several small locks of the patient’s hair, tie them up with a ribbon, and put them in little pink mesh bags for each member of the family as some sort of morbid memento.  They take the dead person’s hand, place it on an ink pad, and then stamp it to a piece of paper that has some sort of sappy and sorry poem typed up on it.  I do not know where we put the paper, but my little mesh bag is still on my bedside table.  Somewhere.  

They put dead bodies in white body bags.

for those that may not be aware
I suffer from a disease that doesn't visibly appear
I suffer from a disease known as epilepsy
it's my burden, and I'm not writing this for sympathy

one question that always is asked and repeated
what does it feel like when a seizure occurs? can you beat it?
I think I'll sum this sensation up the best way I can
so please forgive me if this poem is bland

What's the most exhausting thing you've ever done?
whether that be marathon ***, or running in the blazing sun?
take that sensation and make it twenty times worse
now there's the physical aftereffects in this very verse

Now for the mental feeling of solid lucidity,
a full but empty feeling that can't really be explained
only experienced really, and that doesn't sound sane
it's like being drunk yet sober, high but haven't smoked
but all the while, your brainstem is being choked

You know, I've realized it's impossible to describe a seizure completely offhand,
but count yourself lucky if you aren't prone to them,
even with this burden, I'll make my life grand

my female cicada
found way to lay eggs
inside of my nasal cavity
our larvae are
pupating
hatching free
screaming inside of my frontal lobe. maddening me.
and a swarm it swims out
every time that i sneeze
and i ask them to please **** me
with their disease
but they chew through my hyde
(and who knew that id
find the hard way these incestuous insects could tease
til they torture the swallowed man, hollowed inside,
empty,
wallowing,
died
(and now no mind to mind,
so i guess i forgive em;
their mess, as the walls of my mind are lined with em))
yes theyve blessed these
molested and
nested flesh pieces of me
and replaced em with feces and waste:
rest in peace.
guess a curse would be worse,
now i know that my family
makes our home in the earth,
and they take what they give;
they give Death to take birth
and take breath from each other to give to themselves,
and what else?
Fathers Brothers
and Sisters and Mothers
are Kissing cuz thats what lovers
do to lovers
before they enjoy their next meal made of ******.
"Meat i would like you to meet Meat and Meat" cuz thats all that they are to eachother like i was to their second cousin and mother. and she was to me a sure way to become better father and son by means of becoming fully free of this Life, what a wife, giving me family at the same time as taking my life so i dont have to end it by sending a knife through my wrist or my neck, oh and lest i forget: well, i beckon to send you a message, my wife: "im so sorry that i wasnt there when our our kids started ripping and taring your body apart. Love i Swear if i couldve been there idve stopped em and started to chop em and never have stopped. but its over now. lover how lovely itd be if you were singing delicately next to me with your legs and then climbed back inside of my skull to lay eggs in my nasal cavity. the screaming and ravishing, pupating, oh its so maddening not be having these. hacking and wheezing and coughing and sneezing til my nose is bleeding and they can start feeding. i wanna feel feelings of them eating on my brainstem and the rest of my flesh and then hollowing out all of my bones and then make a home as they start to have larvae all of their own which then, they will then start to eat, from my head to my feet, and between, from my elbows and knees, im a death bed of meat which my family needs;
theres so many to feed cuz - theyduplicatein3's...

There are bees in my brain again.
All that's in my eardrums is the
picking,
gnawing,
chewing;
the incessant buzzing of their wings beating against my prefrontal cortex.
I can hear them working away, relentlessly, day&night;,
trying to make a home for themselves.
A hive in my head.
They have taken up residence.
They are quite comfortable.

I imagine their tiny bee legs mixing a golden, syrupysweet substance.
Thoraxes and abdomens dancing a little bee dance on my brainstem,
happily humming,
poised to pour the poison.
The sauce saturates my cerebrum.
Thickerthanhoney...molasses.
It weighs me down--adheres me to the ground.
Now I am suspended in a tub of the suffocating stuff.

Fear of it all,
Not knowing when to fall,
Working so hard for far too long,
To have it all go wrong,

Fear of alpha,
We Made scenes,
My ******* is biblical,  

I was flung from the clouds,
For clapping louder than thunder,
He casted us out,
For tugging at his crown,
Because we challenged a throne,
That failed to fold,

Here and now,
Hand selected or arrested whatever’s suggested,
As long as there’s a mic,
I’ll take the stand,
And play witness,

Groping the book oh so popular with hotel nightstands,
And before your bailiff,
I’ll promise my honesty,
Give you false hope, in my sense of loyalty,

Fearing you all
You believe I love to fib,
That’s what you teach your kids,
So do you see the guilt gushing beneath my skin?

Witness to havoc,
The day we set Heaven ablaze,
In the name of Adam,
I promise your honor,
We fought for the liberation of Eve,

But that isn’t what Father preached,

Hand in the prosecutors,
With another on the switch, guess who the defendant is,
Decadence is looking for a conviction,  

The anti-Christ’s came before the Vatican,
He’s of your genetics,

It’s inconsiderate,
You even preached providence,
It’s inconvenient,
To find out your scriptures of full of ****,

Fear of it all,
I was on the sidelines,
And Casted out,

Knowing too much for sainthood,
I tinkered with the watchmaker’s minutes, and was flung from the clouds,

Envious of humans,
But opposed to walls in Eden,
I’ll caress scripture with my finger tips,
I’ll recited your rites of pagans,
And pander to a judge, jury, and all the slaughtered lambs,

He tossed us out,
For tugging at his crown, and falling out of line,

Just a sheep counted before sleep,
But we woke up,  
When we assaulted the Angelic Order,
For fear of it all,

From incubation to graduations,
You’ve been suffocated,
Socially lacerated,
Incapacitated,
By a genre of gimmicks
Governmental deliverance,
Poisoned pulpits of pretenses,
Symbiotically capable of lethally extorting martyrdoms
I watched him rip that rib
  
Fear of you all pulling the plug on me,

I’ve worked so hard for far too long,
To let you lower my corpse,
Beneath entitled toes,

Never finding unity,
Only your sensual weakness for a delusional *******,
Detrimental martyrdoms,
I challenged a throne that refused to fold,

Fear of Alpha,
He casted me out,
To where the brimstone never burns out,  

Foaming at the brainstem,
Unhinged with a taste for their *******,
Fear of you all,
Those that surrendered to bliss,

Now you get my fear of it all,
The day I set heaven ablaze was my ultimately reckoning,
Ignorant because being different required intelligence,
Only now do I see,
Only fools challenge divinity,

A keg stand takes three dipshits,
I challenged Alpha.
Of Beelzebub’s breed,
Falling out of line,
Feeling Gabriel’s heel,
Teacher’s pet had me by the throat.

Lotus position,
River running
Overturning the pebbles
Beneath the surface
Thumb and middle fingers
Pressed together
Leaves are falling
From the tree I sit beneath
Cherry blossoms fall around me
Like pink rain
Inhale, exhale,
My lungs fill and then deflate,
And I feel endorphins leave my brainstem
And spread through my body
As I repeat my mantra,

The birds are singing above my head
I see the late evening sun
Paint the sky burnt orange and pink
Through closed lids
all I can smell are flowers and dew
I taste the peace upon my breath,
And it's very sweet

I am what I am,
I am nature
I am human
I am the universe,
simply observing itself
For a while
I am beautiful,
I will witness myself
In my full, and glorious splendor

I will understand
The real nature
Of things

Inhale, exhale...

It's bad metaphor Monday
and the fluorescent lights
are still pulsing.

My hair is tangled and matted
and I ran out of cigarettes
       hours ago.

Deep pools of purple
are welling under my eyes
and a knot in my stomach
is chewing on my insides.

There's an acid slug
slinking around my head
and liquid candy drops
are trickling down my spine.

I picked off all my fake fingernails
because there was an itch underneath them,
and there's a clammy moisture
gathering at the bottom of my brainstem.

I haven't slept in days
and I'm still lost in last­ night,
because the sun don't shine
in a drug-cluttered mind

a hideous beast wakes in the
depths of my heart.
crawling from the shallow grave I buried him,
silent and dark, tip toes on guitar strings.
he shoots through my brainstem like ******,
intoxicating my dreams, gnawing his teeth.
I thought you were dead!?
why are you here!?

©Dylan Whisman

I turn my volume up
Till the voices slowly fade into gray
My heart marches
Along a solidified line of doom
Representation of how the phrase
"I'm fine" is pinned into the center
So instead of just saying it
When my heart beats each time
Eighty beats a minute
It'll say it too
It'll believe it too
So that means I'll believe it
When it croaks from my throat
Searing a path
Burning dishonesty
I have to
When it traces the seams
Of my most vital *****
Besides my brain
But that's fine my brain is taken care of too
Its got the shining
Defiantly bright
Undimming
Tattered word
"Happy"
Swathed around the Cerebrum
Happy
Crusted into the grooves of cerebellum
Happy
And entombed into the brainstem
Happy
I'm happy
I'm fine
I'm happy
My crumpled and wrinkled soul knows differently
So many holes
In this black stained fabric
Moths of self consciousness
Fluttered wings and feasting teams
I'm happy
I'm fine
I smile
I believe it



Almost...

I don't care
About all the other jewels you hold in cusped hands,
You make me feel as valuable as each and every one of them.
I want to adorn your skin, just to leave a subtle hint
To make you feel beautiful with the way I complement,
Throwing compliments to your feet, on my knees
Begging you, please, just one
Chance to release these feelings.
A day of your love. A second of your touch,
I just want to say that I've had the experience.
I crave your kiss, I crave your tongue.
Your body is where my fingers long to run,
Across every flawless inch of skin
Every rise, every dip
Let me burn you with fingertips
And scorching lips,
Whispering promises of rhythmic hips.

I just want one day.
One measly minute.
One tiny, insignificant
Miniscule second;
To taste your heaven.

To etch every detail
Into my brainstem.

-SLuR

so here it is: the lain bare strewn messy clod of


                                                                            sampled

                                                                                                 brainstem

I call my mind, and it wants something! something

                                                                                else
                               and beyond the vacuities of the faculties accused of 'humanity.'

what are you searching for, separate self? are we not the same at

                                                                                 root
                                                                                cause and the same at


                                                                                        b
                                                                                           a
                                                                                              s
                                                                                                e
                                                                                                  - p
                                                                                                 m
                                                                                               a
                                                                                             c


thousands of feet

above
the

typical

wavelength? where wax philosophical filtered me into

                 category
                                                               after
                                                                                                   category

with every received monotone and


morbid
              cancellation

                                                                  of the
                                          p
                                            r
                                              e
                                                v
                                                  i
                                                    o
                                                       u
                                                         s
                                                           t
                                                             h
                                                               o
                                                                 u
                                                                   g
                                                                     h
                                                                        t
                                                                          ?

Oh, That my heart could t h r u m
out a morse. code.
to my mind

so my eyes could
tear moistly, or WriNkle at the e d g e of humour

my ears resonating with
peals of lau g  h   t  e  r
or
reeling sil e n  c   e   s

so my hand could reach
and pick the l o w h a n  g i n g
fruit
from my brainstem

mouth to sample
the f l a v o u r/
and toss the bottled message
a l o n g    the vein to my thrumming
.heart

Climb my spine with feet of flame,
and fan the smouldering need
within my brainstem
to a burning ecstasy,
as I take flight.

Heart attacks, en masse
I wear a mask when I relapse-
*******! The laugh track’s scratched.
Tied a knot out of my tongue, instead of the cherry stem.




It’s so sad... how when I fall apart,
It’s like I needed that; the blowback,
From a shot through the mouth into a brainstem.
The hole that starts in my nose ‘cause I snort things that erode-
The soul, and leave my bones to hold a fetal pose.
My brain recites such delicate prose,
Whispered to me by the specter of your notes.
A voice I no longer know…




Where’d you go?
My head’s a black hole.
This grey matter’s decomposed.
I’m scared to death, talking 'bout
“Ruh-rohs” and “Hell nos!”
Trying to outrun your ghost
but, I’m stuck inside smoke Os...
Scattered across the ozone,
Riddled with “I don’t knows”

I want to exorcise my heart,
But I don’t want to be alone.

-SLuR

last night, for what may have been the first time in what felt like centuries of me loving you,
i felt, in the base of my brain, barely perceptible but there nonetheless,
doubt.

it's presence alone would not have been as alarming if it had not been for you.
doubt, fear, rage have no place in the home we may never build
but love to dream about when we feel the most alone.

and yet there it was now.
and i sat there feeling doubt slowly spreading like cancer along my brainstem, and i wondered
how long it had been there but dormant.
how long it had been there waiting for the correct catalyst.

i wondered if i still knew every layer of you.
i wondered if i still had you memorized or if all i have learned is a lie.

would you ever lie to me again?
how would i know if you had?
why am i even asking myself these things?

in my mind's eye i crawled into your mouth,
searching inside of you for any trace of deception,
forcing myself to look,
and hating myself for looking.

when i awoke this morning, my hands were empty, and i do not know whether that was good news.
frankly, i am afraid to ask.

Look inside.
Open up
to the core.
Bone, blood
flesh
and more.
Look into
the organs,
heart, liver
kidneys
and more.
Look behind
the eyes,
brainstem,
cerebrum,
cerebellum
and more.
All looks
the same.
Where are
you?
Where can
you be found?
Where
is your
uniqueness?
Where is your
essence?
Where
is your
soul?
Look everywhere,
look very hard.
Nowhere to
be found!
Receiver,
your body
just a
receiver.
Your essence,
your soul
beams in
from a
different place.
A place
from
beyond.