whats the point of those chemicals
the ones that make me flirty
and giggly
and easy

what's the point of the regret
that makes me groan the next day
and sleep for hours
and sad

i guess those chemicals make you pretty happy

I love OD'ing on sunlight when I wake up
grab some OJ and go lay in the soft grass, and tell the birds to carry on
their light conversations and noisy chitchat above my closed eyes
open head - delve into me
the grass probably itches if I pay attention, but who cares
I can't restrain my limbs any longer
no more hanging in limbo with excuse of pain and no gain
I can't remember why I'm naked but
I always feel naked around you
I've always been naked under these clothes

My brain is dashing ahead, though I stop and gaze inward and upward
The trees could be mocking me, but they're probably just as happy to be themselves as I am
so I follow suit and reach up to ask for mutual attraction from the sky
and we start a new day
time to function
back to the grind
my gears shift and the grey leaks back into my veins
time to function
(but once you've overdosed on daylight, you're never the same)

You are the systole to the diastole
Of my four-chambered cavity
You are the pulmonary rhythmic control
That fills air to my capillary.

You are the Pituitary Gland
That drowns my bloodstream in dopamine
You take my brain to a wonderland
Drunk and overdosed in Seratonin.

You are the only Mitochondrion
That powers all cellular activity
My Cytoplasms are in motion
For the sexiest Golgi Body.

You are the ultimate synapse
In my every granule of neuron
That gives an involuntary prolapse
To both my dendrite and axon.

Indifference
Let's do something different. Let's not give this one a form, or try to create structure, a pattern, a format in which to read this. Let's not try to make an art of this. Let's just let the words spill, so that they are all said before they're forgotten. Because this brilliant brain you were given and abused, Victor, well it's not quite the same, it's hard for it to function right, it's hard for it to be what it once could have been. So yes. It is rather weak, and everything leaks out rather quickly, memorization isn't much of a possibility. You can't even remember the words your love says to you. Your wife's words are the sole consolation to all the other **** that life throws at you. Clearly your brain doesn't see the importance of seratonin, or endorphins, or dopamine. 'Cause well, it's holding them all back. Your brain seems to have its own philosophy, that everything works fine, and depression is a myth. And so your "heart", (which is really your soul, which isn't physically existent, so it could be said to be a figment of your imagination, produced by your mind, which perceives  everything that is physical after your brain has processed it, but your mind also cannot be touched, so it may also be nonexistent, does this make me a nihilist?) takes all the consequences and lets it all run through you and take it's toll. So yes, everything just feels like ****. And you really just feel dead. But it can't be said that you are, because you don't know if you are. Your Angel is the one who reanimated you, who suddenly reintroduced the color that you didn't notice was fading from the world. But you see, you've just ****** yourself up so much that you can't get your hippocampus to do much of anything. So now that you've finally met your wife, and now that you love her more than it's even humanly possible to love, you find it increasingly difficult to hold on to what she's giving us. It's like we're trying to carry sand in a fishing net. I can't retain my only happy memories. As she drifts further away, my memory decays along with my soul and my body. Everything I was, everything I became, just goes to ****. It's all a waste if she's not there to receive everything you've worked to create and give to her. You know, Hell is beautiful and sulking in sin is bliss until you've been to Heaven. And I was there. I keep slipping off and falling only to find that she was already waiting to catch me. But each time, she lets me closer and closer to the ground. I'm scared of the day when she won't catch me. But the fear is dull. Everything is dulled. Before she came, you were suffering all the time, every moment, intoxicating yourself so that you could force yourself to be a normal person. Because you were so not normal, that no one could relate to you. And although I deny it, I just want someone to understand me. I want someone who's felt the exact way I feel, so they can tell me how not to feel. Well, you don't feel now, Victor. You don't feel anything, feeling is for humans, and you're not human anymore. You're just the shell of the egg, waiting for the chick to hatch, without feeling that the fetus has already combusted down to ashes, a body without a soul. Incapable of making it anywhere in Life. Because you are me, and I am you, and we are I or you or me, and that's not the way it's supposed to be. All you can do, only because of muscle memorization, is stroke the strings of what's been called an instrument but to you is the extension to your body which you use to voice your soul. That, and attempt to end what you've loathed living, which is a life without her. I had more to say, I have much more thoughts, but let's be honest with ourself, Victor. Anyone who's read this far is probably tired of all your ******* about how you hate your life, being a typical teenager, even though you're hardly that anymore, even though I'm around the corner of having some of what I say be taken seriously. But nobody truly cares, people just get tired of complaints. I don't know why I'm still writing, nobody will read this far. I don't even want to write anymore. I just lack so much motivation that I don't even want to complete this, I don't want to express everything else I was thinking. It's just too much effort for something I don't even care about. Nor does anyone else. I should change the title from "Indifference" to "Depressing Thoughts You Don't Want To Waste Time On". This totally strayed from my original thoughts. I was gonna say something but I forgot. I forgot everything I was going to say. I just feel empty and emotionless now. I hate leukemia. I hate Adam and Eve for committing the sin that ****** us all over, I hate Satan for tempting them, I hate these events. If they just wouldn't have happened, my Angel, my love, my wife, My Azami, she would be okay. Every type of cancer, every type of sickness or disease, could never have hurt her. And we would know she'd make it though this alright, well, it wouldn't have happened in the first place. We'd know we could be together forever. But I'm writing too much. Again. I keep forgetting no one will get this far. Whatever. I guess it helped a little to let some of it out. I just ******* hate this. That I might have to live without her. I hate it so much. I need to drug myself, I can't stand so many negative thoughts and feelings. If only I had been born with a normal brain that acknowledged the need for happiness, and to release seratonin. Whatever, too much again.

I'm trying not to become
Co-dependent
On someone
Someone I like a lot
Who brings solace to my fears
When they choose to talk
And I'm trying to appear sane
If only on the surface
To not throw my fondness away
For said person
By expressing it too often
Cause in the static of my mind
Time moved in heartbeats and
In solitary reflection I find
I've found a semblance of what
I seek
It's true I could die today
With a flashback of your voice
So I'm hoping that you'll stay
Because I'm still awake
I couldn't find it in art
Small-talk or T.V
No words seem to explain
This sensation that's posessed me
You think I'm a wreck because
I'm young and
Glorifying your face
But the truth is that I'm numb
When a cold wind replaces
Your embrace
You see romance never wanted me
Affection left me alone
All I knew were scissors to
Snip petals off of roses
And pills of all shapes and sizes
To keep my mind off of the
Affirmation
Believing I was fated to
Constant suffering in silences
My shiny new rational is this:
Life's too short to never fall
In love and life was meant for
Just two to amass a
Treasure trove
I'm trying to stay myself
And share my completeness
With the one
I'm trying to remain intact
When all is said and done
But that's only theory
I can't build a house on
The foundations more like water
That consumes the cement and
Stone
So I'm a little bit dramatic
I know what you're thinking
But who are you to tell me
That my therapy's not working?

"I sipped on your serotonin lips
like they were made to satiate my thirst
for a liquid i had only once drunk before
my palms like magnets to the moons crescent smiling down your face
my eyes sleep at the sight of stars hanging under my eyes
blue skies underline my waist
clouds of grey hang from my lashes
the blood of autumn covers my face in the night as i wake to another set of blue skies, divided, divine and heavy, opening portals of purple and green inside my skin
still sipping your serotonin lips, now serotonin arms and feet, do i dare fleet?
i change into the sky I watch, the dust on the street, the leaves i breathe, we look alike."

I have never snorted
or smoked
or stung skin
with the explicit
substances of this earth
But I have heard that when
a human being goes from
first ****** experience to
aching addiction
Their brains have been
flooded
with seratonin
to such a devestating
degree
that they can no longer
enjoy organic bliss

                                                        sc­ent
                                                        taste­
                                                        touch
  ­                                                      melody

Wha­t I want to know
Is if this is what happened to me
because of **you

I could explain to you the exact process by which my Brain craves something more,
It begs for Dopamine, Seratonin and other such delicious chemicals,
It gives me sunshine, when the rain pours through the crack in my window,
I gives me happiness, when my psyche wanders to it's bad old ways.

Is there more to life than the things we perceive with our primitive organs?
I'm not so sure.
So i fill my bloodstream with these potions that make me see beautiful things,
So i fill my lungs with the acrid taste of fantasy,
So i fill my veins with hope, and dreams of when i was happy,
So i fill my head with the notion that i can stop whenever i want,
And deprive my Brain of this reality, in the hope it will give me something more appealing.

A wise man once said, that only a life lived for others is worth living,
And so i find myself worthless, bathed in glorious hedonism,
Alone in my palace of dreams.

Interesting idea but probably not realistic
Not going to speak this out loud
Fact is, they will probably think I’m crazy
A strange wanting to be nearer
Time to deep dive and reflect on this
Unclear from the chemicals dopamine, seratonin, & norepinephrine
Annoying really, especially because it’s not convenient
Truly wanting to know what they feel
Ignorant to the signs
Only person that seems to “get me”
Nearly at my wits end but smitten

Warm and fuzziness is the feeling I crave
That feeling that everything is OK, with me, the world,
the sun is shining, I'm out of that dank cave
And there's one way to get it, even though I know even though I've been told
through science I know, there are really two ways

Science isn't poetic, but it explains and you can understand it
Doesn't change much of anything in how you feel as you go along
I feel like I'm living through a ****** Kesha song
and that is sad and just plain wrong

Men.  They can give me, that seratonin high
And there's nothing better, although I've looked well nigh
everywhere and run down train tracks, into seedy bars,
took those pills in plastic bags and ***** jars,
it always comes back to that one elusive feeling
that floating, I am attractive, enough and everything will be just fine
And I'd drink a case of wine
except I know it wouldn't take me there,
just make me sick, and lie around making a rat's nest of my hair

It makes me seem desperate
For the guy who is experiencing me and it
I don't even have to like him
He just has to turn a kind eye and off I go
That's how I entangled with my X I know
I didn't even like him much, but off I went
and ended up married under one of those Jewish tents

So one call and I'm high
And then an hour later it's over and I'm low
There is only one thing I know
I must take the sage advice
that I've paid a high price
for
and that is: this feeling, to myself I can give
and if I learn that I won't feel like this
I can, anyone can, renew from the inside out
I don't have to walk around in helpless doubt

But it's the hardest thing in the world
harder than the butterfly stroke
that I'd never tried to learn
I wish there were drugs in some ancient urn
and I'd walk a thousand miles on my knees
until they were bloodied
to plunge my hand in and consume that thing
or I wish at least I had some book
that could teach me how to get there, or at least how it would look
Just be here, science says, that's all it does.  It's not enough.

If it were easier to be proud,
I might be.
But positivity doesn't often
ring in me.
I have shined for so many years,
making proclamations of my thoughts and fears,
relentlessly opening my heart,
my doors,
my mind.
Only to be crushed a dozen times.
And maybe it is beautiful that I keep trying.
But it doesn't feel that way on the
inside.
It is like
harboring a monster in me,
and hoping one day someone could
love it.
I can smile in so many ******* directions and it has
never
fixed the beast.
And it eats and feasts on
feelings.
I believe my neurons and nerve endings,
and my seratonin and dopamine,
have all been over-
compensating.
For fear of losing it all to this
thing
in me.
It's been there since I was about
13,
and I thought it had stopped
growing.
Long dormant,
but now returning from
submission.
Moving from feelings and making bigger decisions.
I fear he is now eating
me.
Some sickness from the inside out,
beginning with my sense of doubt.
And lack of fulfillment
and stupid ambitions.
And all of the things I have tried to keep hidden.
He is tearing holes in the very foundation
of this ******* facade I've been constantly faking
for something like 5 years
now.
All my best kept secrets are leaking through the cracks,
leaving people feeling like they're
sorry they asked.
He will go for my bones, and then my skin,
after devouring the flesh within
until there's
nothing
left of me.
I have been piles before.
Crumbled, bumbling,
cautiously fumbling for
doors or
floors
or lightswitches.
Chased into beds with sheets
far less than neat,
he's been following me for
some time now.
And I keep thinking I can write him out.
But the feeling never sticks around.
And the words will cease to make me proud.
It comes back.
Like clockwork.
Year after year,
cold after cold,
he is there.
Somewhere in me.
Eating steadily, slowly.
Savoring the taste of my suffering.
Depleting my positivity,
and filling it with other things.
And what I have been wondering
is if I can somehow make it leave
and allow what's left of me to breathe,
one day will it be easy
to be
proud?

You       make    me         feel    like      this    is    more    than       a          "more than,"          a    "less than,"          an    "equal to."
                  More       than       infinity,    a    vector,    a    scalar.    A       page-fifty-seven-numbers-one-three-and-twenty-two.        More ­   than    "x"        approaching      it's       limit.               More       than      a   dopamine,       seratonin,       oxycotin         cocktail.


      I'm   a      little                   drunk    and                I       love       you.
               You're          worrying             and                               I       love       you.
   You're          overthinking       the          unthinkable    and       rationalizing    the    irrational    and          I          lov­e       you.
      You're    crying          into    my                ex­istence    and                   I       love          you
      You're    spinning    in          circles    on    the ­   second          time    we          hung    out          and  ­ * holy    mother          *******             God-playing-hide-and-seek,                         I             love          you.*

      You    make    me          feel    lik­e    Moses    parting                seas    and    leading    al­l    of    my    dreams    across    to    a    Holy             ­   Ground.
         Like    a             supernova    explosion             and    you're             my    black          hole.
Pulling
       me
                           in.

Pillow       talk    of       original    sin.

         You       remind          me          of       documentaries       :    curl       up    on          the    couch          and       spend    the       day             away     in       blankets             and          still                not       have               wasted    a           ****        minute.

                        I                   ­      love             you       more    than       words    can       know,    and       when    I       told    you    that,       you    held    me    tighter.
My    head       feels    heavier       but    my       heart    a       lot    lighter.

I       feel         lucky          to      know          you,       let       alone       love    and       be          loved    by       you.       I      don't      believe         in      miracles   but      I      believe      you      are            a         blessing.

               I    hopped       to    the       edge    of       my    bed    and    found    the       Atlantic    Ocean       staring          me       down
You    haven't       even    gone,    yet          I    still       find    myself    counting       down       the    days    until       you    return.

why is every poem about drowning?
crashing, falling, dissolving
why is everyone drowning?
an entire generation
pulled in by the tides of mental illness
why do we all hate ourselves?
was it the way we were raised?
or are we proof
that the theory of evolution is false
if survival of the fittest is true
then why do so many of us want to die?
a generation of sad
sad kids
betrayed by the chemicals
in their own brains
drowning
crying out
for seratonin

salty banana brain game
seratonin sunshine soup
neurotransmitter broth
shimmer shimmer
a neuron takin a ****

a contradictory cocktail of adrenaline and melatonin
dance lightly underneath my skin
and you move in time with
my heartbeat.
petal lips dance between my hips and
the seratonin
and dopamine
kick in
and the
oxytocin, endoprhins,
you are an aphrodisiac on legs
and oh god
oh
oh
oh

The pills
**** my creativity
  when the seratonin flows
   the poetic juices run dry

if only I were an optimist
half-full glasses and seratonin
by the masses
some days the light can blare
however today I think
I'll sit
and not care

-c.j.

Logic says to me,
"You've really gotten better!
You don't breakdown so often
You smile more."
Yeah, its the medication!

It says, "You handle things with grace
and don't fly off the handle.
You aren't so easily angered."
Yeah, its the medication!

                       It says, "Yeah, your emotions are foggy
                               but at least you aren't crazy.
                             I bet it's hard to feel things, but
                                you aren't crying all the time.
                           And you haven't collapsed in bed
                                           and begged to die.
                                  Or at least, its been a while."
                                   Yeah, its the medication.

                       "Why do you have tears in your eyes
                               and why aren't they falling?
               Does it feel like your chest is made of concrete?
              Like a sneeze that hurts but it just won't happen?
                    Can you feel the attack waiting in the corner
                    leaving you with dread and adrenaline?"
                                   Yeah, its the medication.

                                                    ­                          "Seroquel for seratonin
                                                       ­                            Buspirone to breath,
                                                         ­               and ****** to calm down.
                                                           ­               So what could go wrong?
                                                          ­          Is it bad to not be able to feel
                                      even though you know you have the right to?
                                                       And your chest feels heavy and full
                                                      like an awning with too much water
                                                         and you kind of want it to collapse
                           because you so badly want to remember how to cry
                                                And the blackness you were so afraid of
                                                              ­                            seems like home
                                                            ­                   and you're homesick?"
                                                      ­                      Yeah, its the medication.

destroyer of the void
I am glass shattered sun
scattered high beams

leaping from one black hole to another

I am finding nothing but the light within my soul bent into empty caves empty caves abyss forever
keep spitting

you're mine forever
chain link and snap

seratonin is an inhibitory neurotransmitter

happiness means
less neural activity

stop thinking, brain
stop it, please

but I will know joy from suffering
so I will know bliss from despair

**** me **** me I want to feel alive
train wreck train wreck

someone
pull me out of the
hole of *** the
hole of gender the
hole of identity

it is raining

my words drip along with the raindrops as the sides of this meatbucket crumple inward

plastics melting and
canvas fibres disconnected

i am frayed eye lash
eye lash pull scream and

eyes twisted in shapes unseen
body convulse and and convulse in
I'm confused why am I here

take me away from
this body
this now

losing my eyes would help everyone else

Our chemistry is like a beautiful glass of richly red wine.
Taken in by slow sips in order to be thoroughly enjoyed.
Chock full of dopamine, seratonin, and endorphins.
And you want more, you want so much more because
the liquid slips down your throat in a way you've never experienced before. But it is an enlightening experience
Enlightening to the point of toxic. Toxic because it is alcohol and too much of one thing is a bad thing.
But it is deliciously addictive and you start to feel your body slip into an unconscious state.
You remain in this euphoric state with your heart racing and your soul ready to jump out of you, but your mind sticks like glue.

They can make the chemicals for love in a lab. I know. I’m sick of hearing how unspecial it is that I exist alive with passion.
Listen. The world around me is howling and the moon is sick with our worries. We are all in a flood that wants us to sink without screaming. There is nothing in my pocket but debt and shadows and the teeth that have been knocked out of me. There is nothing in my future but cubicles and temp agencies.
Let us have love. This generation is dying. We are sweating out the innocence we were supposed to grow up in. We are all stumbling around with our hearts pounding in desperate fire alarms. We are all smothered. Let us have love.
Let us love each other wildly with our pictures of girls laughing in the passenger seat. Let us hold onto the images of our friends on the beach with sandy knees, of bonfires, of blurry drunken singing, of stopping for shakes and slurping them over bridges, of a shy look over one shoulder, of the sun setting, of selfies that show: I’m alive right now. I’m happy. Let us keep that. Let us keep proof that we are happy.
Love can be made in a lab. “Let that sink in,” he tells me. I say, “I knew that already.” So can basically anything. I want to stop questioning myself. I want to love so wide it breaks your measuring systems. I want to love her until she shakes, I want to touch him until it breaks me. I want to stop the cynics in their tracks. Everything is already so sad.
Can’t you see? Science doesn’t make this boring. Science makes this amazing. Everything that’s dancing in my head when I think of the people I love - it’s so real that they can read it in chemistry. It’s not just fantasy. It means I feel it to the very cells of me.
Let us have love. Let us have our dopamine, our seratonin, our oxytocin. We are surrounded by poison. Give us our delicate balance. Give us something we can believe.
”
— Love is scientifically explainable. That doesn’t mean it’s not amazing

Yesterday I was your shining star
Today to you I'm nothing
Yesterday you smiled at me ear to ear
I felt so honored, to have you near
I was overcome by that seratonin fix
Today I went around in a deficit

I called another one of you last night
He's the one I used to live for
And honestly, I just can't get my fix from him anymore

Tomorrow maybe you'll look upon me kindly
Or not, whatever suits you nicely
It's clear it doesn't matter much to you
What exactly that I do

I ate away the ****.
I ate away the abuse.
I ate away the depression.
I tried eating away the pain.
But now I can't keep eating.
Because of the words that you threw around like it was nothing.
Fat. Disgusting. Ugly.
I'm not sad and beautiful.
Like the girls you write the stories about.
Because my self harm was my comfort food.
The way your self harm was the lack of food.
I punished my body everytime I climbed stairs.
And I knew I deserved it.
Except now at my lowest,
I can't afford a salad.
Or a donut to find the seratonin that I crave.
And the only thing I want to eat now
Is a bullet.

Cortisol

Caffeine
Nicotine
Morphine

Endorphin
Seratonin
Dopamin­e

Cortisol