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."

at the bottom of a stagnant lake
lived a dead forest
black trunks standing
knuckle deep in muck
branches simply armature
for a fluttering array
of gray scarves
blowing in the watery wind
molds and aquatic plant life
growing quieter in near darkness
the forest laid down years ago
gave up the sun and the breezes
the same arguments from the same birds
slid back toward the sandy edge
then gradually leaned over
one after another they followed
under the forgiving cover
of progressively longer nights
a very slow migration
the stars really weren’t watching
eventual full immersion
nothing left uncovered
but the land around the lake
the gray water always present
became all any tree could remember
oxygenating the murk for a while
the contradictions grew
in place of leaves
instead of hopeful young twigs
stanchions indicating nothing
huddled together under the surface
standing sunken in an air more dense
a different kind of time passing
light arriving but
only in soft whispers

here i am, three months later still perpetually oxygenating the suffocated fantasy that one day i will see you again and my heart will remember how to pulse, my hands will remember how to hold, and you will somehow love me again

here i am, three months later spoon-feeding lies to my hungry brain, telling it "he will come back" spilling fraudulent words into my impressionable mind
"maybe he misses you too"
"it will all make sense in time"
"keep your head up, and remember you're strong enough to get through this"

here i am with a mind that fully believes you came into my life for a reason yet somewhere beneath those strongly wired thoughts, though i have no control over it, is the lingering pessimist that whispers in my ear when i'm sleeping at night, dreaming about the grace of your skin against mine
"he never loved you"
but it wasn't until this moment right now that, that pessimist has been truly heard

because i'm still here
after three, exhausting months, arms weak from reaching out for your grasp, lungs collapsed from all the dry heaving and half-breaths of missing you, and i'm finally looking at you
but you don't even
see me.

Born into this world drenched with crimson stains, we all struggle a little bit with oxygenating our veins.

It was about oxygenating seas
crossing them on our bare feet
as we tied  wishes to the stars
that live deeply within

entwining a few more
with silver strands of thread
and placing them as sequins
on your skin

It was about cleaning the veins
of all nostalgic things
giving them wings, setting them free
and laying all the sunsets at our feet

it was about putting an end to thoughts
that double over in the rain
to pick the daisies in the spring
and boughs of yesterdays  

For me
              it was about surrendering to you
without a question or regret
              claiming your heart
amidst a breaking laughter
of the waves  and rustle of the sheets
              submitting to each other
under white linen leaves
    
              it was about waking up yours
with you
              not knowing the hour or the day

I love you and there's no if or but about it,
I love you like I've known all my life how to,
Like I was born with the feeling oxygenating
my blood, my very core,
I love you even when I try to deny it,
I think about you even if I am thinking about something else,
You're always there, sometimes in background,
sometimes in foreground, but you're always there, why?
Because I love you!
With you I leave all the road maps behind,
With you I don't go according to "plan",
You take my plans and set them haywire,
Jazz them up into something unexpected and
Phenomenal, you take me to the road I would never
have taken, but I do, because that road has
You.

i fall in love with the way your lips form words,
how your tongue dampens your lips so that
your voice doesn’t come through dry.
i fall in love with the way your veins have
spilled across your hands, your warm blood
ebbing towards the surface, oxygenating
your numb structure. your upper lip curls,
and there is a careless trail of stubble,
indicating that you didn’t want to wake today.
your accent isn’t from here, but i find it familiar
all the same. your lullaby-like voice
speaks something funny, and i can feel
a smile tug on the corner of my lips. you could
cease my demons, hush me into a slumber.
you could graze my skin in careless movements,
skimming the surface like a stone on water.
i would welcome you into my humble embrace,
and plant precise kisses on your skin, like
seeds into soil. let them grow, let them bloom,
let us alienate our favored circumstances, and
welcome the possibility of broken bones.
scars tell the best stories,
let us see how this one ends.

to be kissed by him is to be trudging along a sidewalk in the midst of November, alone, cold, searching in the solemn for something to put an abrupt stop to your melancholy, and allow the coldness to heal the hot blood flowing from your open wounds,

a light blue car passes by you and it's playing the song you haven't heard since you were fifteen and in love, naive and in love, but feeling the warmth that love brings in every molecule in your body, filling your lungs and oxygenating your blood with familiar rhythmic groupings and effervescent notes  

your head lifts from your chest and the blockage from your ear canals drain and suddenly you can hear sounds that perpetually stimulate your heart strings, tugging and pulling, allowing tears to accumulate and flow through your ducts until your universe is no longer recognizable and in a state of nostalgic, aqueous disarray

you wipe the tears from your eyes,
you open your eyes,
you look into his eyes,
and oh god, you can see.

I am bringin' to your sudden curious
******* your thumb
On your lap curled up into chemical lingering
Bad smells, and turn out your American flag again
I abuse the perfume and  press the bended knees
Time crept into my space
Hide in my skin, it wouldn't **** lose you
Time is going a bit too far, far, far
Flying like imagination, I stay
Exploring like coyotes and birds, bubbles in my blood oxygenating my soul
Noisome, we made flowers out of our hair and cut wires out of well-cared tools
Escaped the fire of killing many, saying we escaped as one

gravitational red
internal rivers

heart pumped
brain fed

lung oxygenating
****** air

red faced
ochre blushed