Words are the chemicals
Packed in vials sublime
Untouched pure in time
Their base Property lyrical

Words are the coefficients
Reactants , The Thoughts and Emotions
To balance the emotional equation
Poetic are the words omniscient

Combustible the thoughts, fragile the emotions
Handle with care , the equations
Cold storage processed, refilled
Magnanimous ,the words distilled

Thoughts never too dormant
Never static the emotions
The words a kinetic solution
Potential they have Charmant

I was taught in science that matter and energy cannot be created or destroyed, and is simply manipulated into different forms and transferred to other objets.
In Psychology I was taught about the pre-frontal cortex, and how it houses the emotions of the human soul, and about the hippocampus which carefully extracting these emotions into long term memory so they can live forever. I wasn’t taught how these emotions were conserved.

I started wondering to myself, where the **** do the emotions one puts into another go?  
Can emotions be created or destroyed inside the pre-frontal cortex?
Or are they simply transferred from mine to yours, which allows you to put effort into someone else, leaving my emotional remnants to manipulate themselves into pain?

Am I able to transfer my feelings into your PFC so they can spark a reaction with whats inside and manipulate them into something different?
Maybe thats how mutual feelings come about.
But would it not work if your necessary reactants have already been transferred elsewhere? I assume my emotions would react with your painful remnants to leave you neutral again, giving you the choice to forget him or feed him a bit more.

Then how the **** do the feelings of one change as time goes on?
I assume that infatuation never completes its journey to the hippocampus and simply passes through the PFC.
But how do emotions get manipulated into something negative after the rare chance that they complete the savage journey to the long term chamber?
The intermolecular forces of the bond created between us possibly gets overcome by something more powerful.
Something that has been freshly transferred into the PFC of one of the emotional bond carriers; like fear, or the emotional energy of someone new, and she’ll tell him “it wasn’t meant to be”
Which explains how you can move on whilst I can’t as my bond is also broken, but without consent, my their emotions to go haywire and destroy my psyche as they’re not bonded to anything.
I’m “broken”.

Although the intermolecular forces of the emotions inside your PFC have been overcome and manipulated into something new, the old emotional bonds still exist in her hippocampus, as well as his.
Emotions will constantly haunt me from there, creating constant relapse as the painful memories are resurrected and transferred back into his PFC.
They’ll haunt you too, possibly reacting with your current state to create regret.
Either regret of breaking the bonds or forming them in the first place.
I’ll reach a neutral state again, and you will have your turn to be broken when emotions from someone else are transferred respectively.
But we’ll never forget each other.

So i guess love never dies. Only active love. As the emotions in the hippocampus are set in stone whilst that in the PFC are transferred and manipulated, just like matter, and energy.

After all, we are just matter, with energy.

Inside the machine, the mechanism turns --
Spokes and gears, built from lessons learned.
But the gears are rusting, not turning so smooth.
So the product they yearned;
Would be one the thing they would lose.

                                                          ­                                 The gears still rusting, not turning so smooth.

Placed inside were the finest reactants --
Ordered specific for the upper-class faction.
But the gears are rusting, not turning so smooth.
So the machine produced no more than a fraction...
Far from proficient for the hunger to be soothed.

                                                       ­                                     The gears still rusting, not turning so smooth.

Inside they found some things unexpected.
The outside was fine – yet, the inside dejected.
They found the gears rusting, not turning so smooth.
So they closed her back up, left the rusting neglected.
And maybe for the best, for the machine had been abused.

                                                        ­                                    The gears still rusting, not turning so smooth.

But the rust bore down, wearing the gears.
Until the machine had seen her final years.
The gears still rusting, had stopped turning smooth.
She closed her eyes and her ears, to free her from her fears.
For they learned from the machinist, and chose simply to lose.

                                                          ­                        The gears still rusting; not turning, however smooth.

So they fixed her up inside, with some tape and some lies.
But she refused to move -- for the machine was now wise.
The gears were no longer rusting, yet not turning smooth.
The diagnosis unclear, they said “Everything dies."
But the machine had learned the ability to choose.

                                                        ­                    And her gears no longer rusted, yet never turned smooth.

This path showed her poise -- her new eyes, ears and voice.
To exclaim that her gears had stopped turning by choice.
Outside they found shine, but inside laid the rust,
Festering, growing, and being taught to mistrust.
Until the machine could no longer function --
Though the catalyst was no more than a simple deduction:

                                                     ­                          The gears no longer turned, regardless of how smooth,
                                                         ­                  But that's simply the product of a machine left to choose.

Endothermic Entropy

Endothermic reactions absorb energy from the environment, and store that new energy in chemical bonds formed from the initial reaction.

Reactants contain more potential energy than the products of reactions, because chemistry requires activation energy.

A catalyst speeds up a reaction by lowering the reaction energy, so that a reaction may occur at lower temperatures, pressures, and concentrations.

Therefore, if particular reactants get close enough, and become densely concentrated, or if the reactants gain temperature, or are under high pressure, only a tiny amount of activation energy is needed to start the reaction.

Don’t have an endothermic reaction.

When all the dust has blown
By all the rust be grown
Change the scene for once more;
Leaf in the wind, and spore.

An infinitesimal seed
So hapless and inconceivable,
That emptiness of heart
Germinates of a green new start.

A negligible bacterium
To the unforeseen eye
Effervesce, bloom and spume!
Company will soon greet you!

O embrace the sobering ground,
'Tis here just like you found.
All the resources will draw nigh,
'Twas in you all this time!

All need words of encouragement,
Some protein and enzyme.
Rest, reactants, in thy calm tent,
Get some shut eye to see rhyme.

But ever haunted of the past
Should the even'n empire return(1)
See a world in a grain of sand(2),
But never Heaven on this land.

Lo the booms and the busts!
Lo expansions and recessions!
Lo the mad and the sad!
Lo multitudes and solitudes!

O humanity I love you!(3)
How generations trapp'd
That live in cells within, imbued
To so idly stay rapt.

But to their good fortune, adapt!
You shall be absolved
Walking with peace as every stepp'd(4),
The diplomat endow'd

Alas! A new variety!
With such resilience
In ev'ry zone, ev'ry climate
Here to live, here to please!

She braided her nuclear hair back
tight
after she has woken up and smiled at him.
She was prodigiously happy, but
she was more sorrowful
than they would ever know
That made her tear her hair,
leaking reactants into the unstable
environment like
water drip
dripping
from the leaky tap.
That noise drove her to insanity.
drip
drip
one two
three they
drip
drip d r i pd r i p d ri p Dr i P d R I P
she
felt the nuclear waste
run from her eyes
d
r
I
p
P
i
n
G tears, running down hollow cheeks,
but she was the
happiest girl
in the world—her tears were
rose-tinted glasses    but
     no one knew

noting notions as a *** boils over
I'm standing dead still
still in the jig, just clinking
plodding soil as expectants fold in
popped then flicked it
pleasant patina of the mechanism
ceramic pulses in useless scripture
miracle unclipping of a dorsal fin
spectators stack irrelevances in several heaps
haphazard riptides in shared seas of subjection pull dully
slipping through and about subtle reactants
bridling a flood, lock sabotage
nil for a filter, sending catalysts roaring into battle
eating wartime victories and empty advice to be immersed in humility
gifted in living the suffering of the freedom of bearing suffrage
warring wingtips against space edges with abruptness

Packed in vials sublime 
Untouched pure in time 
Their base Property lyrical,

Reactants , The Thoughts and Emotions, 
To balance the emotional equation,
Poetic are the words omniscient,

Combustible the thoughts, fragile the emotions ,
Cold storage processed, refilled 
Magnanimous, distilled 

take my outstretched hand,
when you feel so painfully uncertain
when you can't hold back your tears,
when you're screaming inside,
and gripped by your darkest fears.

when your spirit is weeping,
seems there's no comfort in sight,
energy depleted too weary to fight,
if you've depleted your blessings
and the box lays bare
and angels are no longer there.

If you feel you have no value,
to most you're just there
just a shadow of a person,
can't bring yourself to share,
no point in talking
just deeply,

to find a solitary place to hide,
shut out the noise block out the light,
lie anxiously in wait prepare for the flight
into the deep and endless night,
you don't have to go there alone.

i'll try not to falter or stumble
though unsteady shaky I may be,
we both may take a tumble
but we'll get back up you and me,
next time we'll be stronger, 
though bruised well.

should write 
About how I lied and got away with it, 
How you got caught with
Your hands tied and no one to blame. 
About how it was over before we waved the white
Flag, and I know what it means now
To hold onto a sinking ship.

I've never had anything to die for. 
I should speak about how I've never wanted
Something so much that I devastated it completely.
We loved in harsh conditions, under sun and darkness and
I don't know how to talk about how 
The love didn't save us. 
I don't write about letting go as much as I need about,

Holding on, and I want
That to change. 
I don't want to write hurt just to feel it. 
The next lyrics I scribble about you  will be
About me.

About how I held on and how I let go.
It won't be about your love, it will be about 
Mine. It won't stop me from hurting, but
It is how I make it out
Of my love alive.

what hurts because I think it will 
Stop me from hurting. If I put these words on 
A page then they will be easier to digest. 
Poetry isn't curative by creation, it is
Just confession. Still, these remedial
Lines are what I turn to when I am holding
Too much in my hands.

Right now, I feel 
Like I am overflowing onto the ground below me.
For the first time, 
I don't want to write about what hurts. I want
To keep it inside of me and let it burn me. I want
To carry it in my palms for as long as I can.
About how we've said goodbye so 
Many times that it turned into a threat, a weapon
We made with our tongues. 
🔥🌹🔥🌹🔥🌺📝🔏