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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."
I thought it right to assess some antidepressants, which philosophers are more inclined to call mood enhancers.
This was during my foray into human enhancement, substances intended to enhance physicality, cognition or mood. Nootropic compounds concern the latter two categories.

The most commonly prescribed mood enhancers are serotonin reuptake inhibitors (SRIs), but it takes over a week for these compounds reach their peak effect.
Thus I approached them with the notion that a limited dosage might point to their character, though  not reveal. These considerations in mind, I set about acquiring a few miscellaneous anti-D's.

Fluoxetine was the first successful selective serotonin re-uptake inhibitor (SSRI), better known by its original brand-name Prozac. Fluoxetine has an acute biological half-life of between 1-3 days. Presence of a trifluoromethyl group on the compound deserves note, I wonder what the presence of electronegative fluorine atoms add to the psychoactive flavor of a compound (subjective effects).
I administered a single dose by mouth, there was some indication of subjective character. Light serotonergic sensations and seemingly benign mood-dampening, there is a ****** towards the positive. Waking headspace relatively uninteresting. Observed hints of oneirogenesis, did not manifest in enough character to be detailed - a sort of vivid, 'pulsive wandering, more pronounced in contrast to its waking character.
Good experiment, interesting results.
Ligand     Ki (nM)   Ki (nM)
Target      Flx            Nflx
SERT        1               19
NET         660           2700
DAT         4180         420
5-HT2A   200           300
5-HT2B    5000         5100
5-HT2C    72.6          91.2
α1             3000         3900
M1            870           1200
M2            2700         4600
M3            1000         760
M4            2900         2600
M5            2700         2200
H1            3250         10000

Sertraline is another popular SSRI, also known by it's original brand-name Zoloft. Sertraline has a variable half-life, on average 26 hours.
It's metabolite, desmethylsertraline, has a half life between 62-104 hours but is a far less potent Serotonin Releasing Agent (SRA).
The presence of two chlorine atoms is interesting. The usual, phenomenal serotonergicity is present and pushing towards the positive.
Some nausea, particularly when hungry (this disappeared after some minestrone soup). Some faintness after physical exertion. This dose did not promote onirogenesis. There was a moment of cognitive distortion when the proportions of a focal object seemed to be growing in-and-out, shifting in size.
Site                 Ki (nM)
SERT              0.15–3.3
NET               420–925
DAT               22–315
5-HT1A       >35,000
5-HT2A          2,207
5-HT2C          2,298
α1A        ­        1900
α1B                 3,500
α1D                 2,500
α2                  477–4,100
D2                  10,700
H1                  24,000
mACh           427–2,100
σ1                   32–57
σ2                   5,297

Escitalopram is an SSRI commonly prescribed for major depression and generalised anxiety. It is the (S)-stereoisomer of citalopram. The biological half-life is of escitalopram is between 27-32 hours.
I administered a dose and thought the phenomenal serotonergicity less apparent than fluoxetine but then gastro-intestinal disturbance was noted, I surmised it has a high affinity for 5-HT2C.
Any oneiric qualities were not readily apparent after a single dose, relatively little visual imagery which is understandable given its lack of affinity for 5-HT2A. I found this to be philosophically interesting. Mood elevation observed in bursts of conversation and as odd sensations, possible mental discomfort.
Ligand,
Recptr     Ki (nM)
SERT       2.5
NET        6,514
5-HT2C   2,531
α1            3,870
M1           1,242
H1           1,973

Venlafaxine is a selective serotonin-norepinephrine reuptake inhibitor (SNRI). Venlafaxine and its metabolites are active for about 11 hours.
Initial subjective effects similar to a very light empathogenic stimulant. Perception of altered attention-span/increased reflexive response; energizing yet paradoxically much yawning.
Ligand,  Vnfx      Dvnfx
Recptr    Ki(nM)  Ki(nM)
SERT  ­    82           40.2
NET       2480        558.4

Tianeptine is a tricyclic antidepressant (TCA) with an unusual mechanism of action. It is an atypical agonist of the μ-opioid receptor and has been described as a (selective) serotonin reuptake enhancer (SRE). It has a short duration as sodium salts [prescribed form] of between 2-4 hours but as sulfate this can be notably extended, some of its metabolites are active for longer than tianeptine itself.
Definitely anxiolytic, quite artificial; possible aphrodisiac. I find its opioid activity dissuading, requires caution.
Site          Ki (nM)
MOR       383–768 (Ki)
                 194 (EC50)
DOR      >10,000 (Ki)
                 37,400 (EC50)
KOR      >10,000 (Ki)
                 100,000 (EC50)
All other transporter/receptor/sub-receptor values are >10,000 (Ki).

Bupropion is a norepinephrine-dopamine reuptake inhibitor (NDRI) with affinity for some nicotinic receptors. Bupropion and its metabolites are active for between 12-36 hours. Interestingly it is a substituted cathinone.
Initial subjective effects similar to a fairly light stimulant. Perception of increased attention-span and improved cognition. It is an onirogen that is neutral in quality, enhancing vivid dreaming (a boon of its nicotinic affinity which is counteracted if the stimulant component impinges on sleep). Completely absent of serotonergicity, curious.
The N-tert-butyl group's effect is most interesting, how it affects metabolism and to what extent ROAs alter pharmacokinetics.
I took 150mg ******, as extended and as instant release (the latter was more pronounced). I thought an altered pharmakinetic profile might result from bypass of hepatic metabolism, so I tried 25mg insufflated and felt as if there was effect that it differed slightly from oral ROAs, but also worried that its metabolic fate is thence unknown (compare to the neurotoxic 3-CMC). What of other bupropiologues,
for example, 3-Methyl-N-tert-butyl-methcathinone? Indeed.
                        Bupropion    R,R-Hydroxybuprpn   Threo-hydrobuprpn
AUC               1                     23.8                                  11.2
Half-life         11 h                 19 h                                 31 h
IC50 (μM)
DAT               0.66                  inactive                          47 (rat)
NET               1.85                   9.9                                  16 (rat)
SERT              inactive          inactive               ­            67 (rat)
α3β4 nic         1.8                   6.5                                   14 (rat)
α4β2 nic         12                     31                                   no data
α1β1γδ nic     7.9                    7.6                                  no data

Moclobemide is a reversible inhibitor of monoamine oxidase A (RIMA), its monoamine oxidase inhibition lasts about 8–10 hours and wears off completely by 24 hours. Inhibiting the decomposition of monoamines (e.g. serotonin, norepinephrine and dopamine) increases their accumulation at an extracellular level. It tends to suppress REM sleep and so it lacks oneirogenic properties.
Feeling of well-being, less constrained by the usual anxieties; openness. Relatively unnoticeable side-effects when diet is carefully managed. Made the mistake of eating a cheese and turkey sandwich (i.e. foodstuff rich in tryptophan/tyramine), indications of serotonergicity later became apparent: feelings of overheating and flushing, slight sweating, racing thoughts and anxious discomfort. A stark reminder of Shulgin's old adage: "there is no casual experiment".
Combination with a select few tryptamines (not 5-MeO-xxT) should be safe, and synergistic (perfect for pharmahuasca); reputed to potentiate GHB. However, generally it is extremely dangerous to combine with serotonergic drugs.
Svetoslav Nov 2021
Let the night in, for I'll be writin' the letters of light in the air.
Our bodies pulsate by the notes of gentle symphonies, and we adhere.
Two elements shakin' and mergin' into one.

We are makin' it and cravin' for more of this addictive fun.
The moonlight rays reach the shapes of the furniture, movin' along with the temperature, increasin' with each movement.

Like desert diamonds, we will reflect in the pearly sun.
You will be the meadow that I will prefer and the lover within my arms to cover. Until amusement, let my cries give you inducement.

From the color of sulfate, this night is glowin' with universal sparks.
We both have bewitchin' feels for each other.
I am tastin' honey on the curves of her skin, and we embark on the hill.

The darkness is sailin' on the waves of our unity.
We stomp on a bed full of cherries, and the night stays still.
She feeds me with her tempting body, and I see her lucid thrills.

I climb on her high balconies, and I am one with the moon,
drinkin' from the passion of her milky skin.
Our hearts entwined. I attune from the voice of the raccoon.

Her body is femininity incarnated into a guitar. I play on her strings, listenin' to the music from noon until dawn, bound to our emotional devotion. Our irresistible pleasure is bowing to our connection.
Excerpt from my novel ''Last Occurrence''
Read it here: https://www.amazon.com/dp/B09KF4DYMJ
Svetoslav Nov 2021
Let the night in, for I will write the letters of light in the air.
Our bodies pulsate by the notes of gentle symphonies, and we adhere.
Two elements shakin' and mergin' into one.

We are makin' and cravin' for more of this addictive fun.
The moonlight rays reach the shapes of the furniture, movin' along with the temperature, increasin' with each movement.

From the color of sulfate, this night is glowin' with universal sparks.
We both have bewitchin' feels for each other.
I am tastin' honey on the curves of her skin, and we embark on the hill.

The darkness is sailin' on the waves of our unity.
We stomp on a bed of cherries, and the night stands still.
She feeds me with her tempting body, and I see her lucidly.

I climb on her high balconies, and I am one with the moon,
drinkin' from the passion of her milky skin.
I attune from the voice of the raccoon.

Her body is femininity incarnated into a guitar.
I play on her strings, listenin' to the music from noon until dawn,
bound to our emotional devotion.
Excerpt from my novel ''Last Occurrence''
Read it here: https://www.amazon.com/dp/B09KF4DYMJ
Loveless Wraith Mar 2012
Donuts, o donuts,
Wheat Flour Enriched
Soybean,
Palm and Cottonseed Oil Hydrogenated
Vegetable Oil Partially Hydrogenated
Cocoa Processed with Alkali,
Sodium Acid Pyrophosphate
Sodium Aluminum Phosphate
Aluminum Sulfate
Salt, Dextrose, Soy Lecithin,
Guar Gum, Cellulose Gum, Tapioca Dextrin,
Corn Dextrins, Mono Diglycerides,
Citric Acid, Enzymes,
Natural & Artificial colors & flavors
Sorbic Acid and Sodium Propionate
and Potassium Sorbate
To Retain Freshness:
Eat 'em up yum.
I'm such like a chemical equation.
May evening, 10 pm as the time stitch stick, I was ionized.

We were, perfectly just like Berilium and Sulfate combination did.

Slowly by time, it solved like a combustion struck by appearance of troublesome oxygen and we survived
whereas the beliefs evaporated like the hydrogen dioxide.

In the end, you won over it, finalized the equation by eliminating me both in left and right side.

Leaving me partially ionized, failed thermochemistry as the exothermic spread no waste and the enthalpy was hurt much more.
and without electron I lost.
kt mccurdy Oct 2014
2-[[4-[(7-Chloro-4-quinolyl)amino]pentyl]ethylamino] ethanol sulfate

Sulfate- dry collision with salty white plaster, plaster walls, my plaster teeth in the palm of my plaster hand, the same palm you touched nervously with your fingertips, when your translucent skin showed we have the same blue veins, you with no love line. I’ve ran into walls, trees, dead ends, bursts of hail, but worst of all– you

Ethanol- black liquid gas,a nozzle in my car engine, fracked through my exhaust(ion) burn my esophagus like sweet ginger ale gin, double chin. I’m drunk, so I’m seeing double. Re/frac/tion.

Ethylamino- alcohol: a drizzle in a rainstorm, i can’t contain myself, exploding inside a glass bottle. a defective windshield wiper, reprocessing my words: “ethyl and coke tastes like cough syrup”, I say. either or, neither will help me.   ethyl as fuel is not safe to drink
ethyl as alcohol is not safe either. swirled away in a plastic whirl.

Pentyl- discovered in a collision of ultra violet light with argon, noble gas. overdose symptoms include convulsions (check), drowsiness (check), headache (check), difficulty breathing (check), vision problems, (check). But not for the reasons, or for the causes, I’ve listed.

Amino- building blocks to a withered corn husk of my body. 9 essential amino acids. Find them in your grocery store: egg whites, lysine in sunfish, cod, dolphinfish but please, no mercury. Maybe I have 1 left, maybe 2, after each labored breath entrapped by porcelain walls, cool on my forehead, warm on my hands, dampened dew on fingertips with pressure on my skin, sewer raindrops on my nose, now i’m so good (to you) I can upheave my 7 other amino acids on demand. No more dew on this fluorescent skin, I've always been too artificial to be compared to nature

Quinolyl- you are created by the removal of one hydrogen atom. I am created by the induction of two. This is how we are similar: exposed to light, we change. Your ancestry proceeds you, impurity in a chemical science, derivative of quinoline, which is a derivative of coal tar. you are an dye, a resin, parasites feed on your smell. I lust on your parts, **** out your solubility, desecrate your elements. I own you, don’t think you own me.

4- one milligram less than what disintegrates on the tongue's bitter perception, each night

Chloro- back stroke, breast stroke, my favorite is dead man’s float. inflamed skin, cracked elbows, an allergy

7- years since you’ve been with me, although I own you, you do not own me.

4- exponent of the previous, the total sum of pop art pills by night’s end. sometimes I forget.

2**- the number of techno-colored candies in the morning

A body is made up of chemicals
i am grateful for stretch denim on days
when
          **** it
is a fashion statement
for lavender laundry detergent
because that smell reminds me of the home i've built in my head
for tea at
2 a.m.
when all the things i've done race in my head
because the next morning, i usually get my **** together
for colds
because they make eating an entire roll of cinnamon buns
completely justifiable
for the mountains that surround me
for NPR and good, rated M fanfiction
for def poetry when i can't find the right words
for finding a pack of cigarettes when it is only
11:30pm on a thursday night
and i am well past drunk in a slightly damp armchair
for harry potter and neil gaiman
for when twenty dollars fills up my gas tank
for my grandma's potato salad and biscuits with honey
for feminist zines that make me want to smash the patriarchy
for burts bees chapstick and jasmine-green tea
for friends who let me cry on their
bedroom floors
for books that keep me entertained
(even if that means me crying in my bathtub while reading them)
for courtney love and joan jett because those *******
have ridden in my car with me over many
heart-breaks
for well-water and sulfate free red wine
for johnny cash and new orleans and whiskey
for salt-- because that **** can wash away anything
for farmer's markets and co-ops
for bottles of water  and for cookie dough
when my mouth
is the consistency of cotton  and my mind is a little bit gone
for warm days in January and cold days in September
for breakfast and for hikes that begin at five a.m.
for summer nights drunk on wine and a little too much fire
for friends who call me 'momma bear' and for friends that call me 'baby bird'
for poems that give you cold chills
and flowers stolen from my neighbor's yard
for skin that smells like the sun and sage
for beeswax candles
and the smell of clean laundry
for days when i wake up and realize
i could have died on a bathroom floor
AJ Feb 2014
there are certain feelings that have no parallel
moments that can't be replicated
like the last class of the day on a friday
it's chemistry class, and your teacher is speaking in his thick raspy voice and the words flow through you
you recognize that he is talking but you don't take in the meaning
your eyes and mind are focused on the clock
forty minutes forty minutes forty minutes
and the promise of the weekend fills your body to the brim with a hope that cannot be matched

you are sent to the back of the room to do a lab
and your partner is the same scrawny boy with the chestnut eyes and the softest blond hair that you have ever felt
he's lighting the bunsen burner while you fiddle with the fraying elastic on your decade old goggles
he turns to face you and smiles and you note that his smile encompasses his whole face, his brown eyes beaming at you behind the yellow tint of his safety glasses
you smile back at him and the idea of who this boy is begins to sink into your thoughts
this boy is neither friend nor foe
he is potential
he is a boy you never speak to except to copy notes and you realize that depending on a series of choices this boy could be either everything or nothing to you
the thought is overwhelming so you shove it away
right now, you are lab partners
and the simplicity of that makes you grin

there is sunlight pouring into the chemistry room on the west side of the third floor and it dances across the black lab table where you and the boy are fiddling with a test tube of copper sulfate
you do not speak, just work
hands in perfect synchronicity as you adjust the utility clamps and let the burner ignite
it is almost like a dance, a ballet of hands as your fingertips do pirouettes around each other, recording and observing and adjusting and other science class endeavors
there is a certain intimacy that goes with looking into someone's eyes through the glowing orange of fire coming from a secondhand bunsen burner
both of you are buzzing with the energy of friday but neither of you rushes, wanting to gather each detail, to memorize each beat

it goes fast anyways, and soon you are scrubbing a still warm test tube in the sink next to a girl with hair the color of the night sky
you let out a gust of air to dry the glass and the girl's onyx locks flutter in reaction to the newfound breeze
with one more glance at her, you turn and take your seat, tapping your foot to the rhythm of  the clock, and sitting silently next to your lab partner
you watch as his wide eyes dart back and forth across a page of a book as though he is a cat trying to catch a mouse
chasing the poetry and attempting to trap each word in his mouth, exploring the letters with his tongue

he smiles when he sees you watching and you smile back
then lean into your desk, close your eyes, and capture the moment
Em Glass Sep 2018
The skin on my fingertips is cracking.
I washed all the dishes by hand.
I dried them and stacked them
and put them away.
I walk on the wall between honest and kind.
I wait for the film to unwind,
or become exposed.
The darkroom is where I first
taught my heart to close.
To add the sulfate and turn on the bulb
so the picture wouldn't change,
the way turning on the light
doesn't knock over the first domino.
How your arms rise from your sides
when you skip, a bird taking flight.
How you lie on your stomach
to photograph a seagull.
How do you love two people?
When I close one part,
the cracks form somewhere else.
I walk on the wall between honest and kind.
It is seven feet tall.
I throw an arm out to either side for balance
but it reminds me of you,
so I fall to the right.
precarious
z Feb 2016
enriched macaroni product
(wheat flour, glyceryl, mono
stearate, niacin, ferrous sulfate
(iron),
thiamin mononitrate (vitamin b1)
riboflavin vitamin b2 folic acid)
cheese sauce mix (whey, malto
dextrin, corn syrup solids salt palm
oil modified food starch milk
fat milk protein concentrate con
tains less than 2% of tomatoes
milk mediumchaintriglycerides sodium
tripolyphosphatecream citricacidsodiumphosphatelacticacid naturalflavour
* onions* tricalciumphosphatepartiallyhydrog
enatedsoybeanandcottonseedoil guargum monosodiumglutamate garlic**
yellow5yellow6spicemalicacid enzymes disodiumguanylatedisodiuminosinate artificialflavour cheeseculturemodifiedfoodstarchmaltodextrinpotassiumchlorideacety­latedmonoglyceridessaltmediumchaintriglyceridesapocarotenal(colou­r)contains;
wheat
milk
48(Cd)
is a highly toxic, poisonous and soft metal used in many production processes, but mainly mixed with Sulfate to make the color yellow.

metal is suppose to be tough.
Not malleable, ductile and easily cut.
Polished to a lustrous finish but will corrode in due time.

I am Cadmium;
soft and easily cut, my finish does not last, I can be poisonous if you don't filter me.
But if you mix me correctly, I am a beautiful Yellow.
Gabrielle Jun 2
My sad is copper sulfate,
A blue shriek in my sternum,

A pressure frame inside me,
Too far away to burn him.

Leave my sad to crystallise,
Please just keep your distance.

Through my stalagmites of sorrow
Take the line of least resistance.

I carve companions from the rock,
Each one a salty clone.

I’ve made societies down here
To sit with my alone.
Lauren R Jun 2016
I'm a chemist too, Walter. Don't believe me? Just take a look at my blood. This iron, albuterol sulfate, acetaminophen, all this? I did it.

Don't force my hand, sweetheart.
Don't bite the poet that feeds.
Don't lick the flames that keep that rage you have going, you'll lose your identity.
Don't make your mother scream if you don't want to count bruises.
Don't be too soft, child.
Don't be too ugly, boy/girl/parasite.

Your God's a lion, recently fed, drowsy.*

I wish you'd believe me when I say I'm sick, Dad. My tongue's falling out.
Maytin Paige Sep 2014
you sTare at  my back
wHile i mix mAgNesium and copper sulfate.
your brain tries to function and wrap around what to say.
megan tooK my chair.
i turn and argue that i didn't.
i've been uSing this chair all period.
you continue to playfully argue with me until deciding that i am going to win this 'argument'
because i go to pull yours from under you.
my nose presses into your shoulder.
you smell of Tide and manly musk.
so Attractive.
You grip the stool of your chair as it rocks against the floor.
you go on to tease me about how your chem project is
without flaw
and how you're the best there ever was.
S K Garcia Sep 2014
Round wheels found
patterned, pebble pavement
opened Heaven
and white walls.

Who were washed, dropped
brown mud crowns broken
on soft breathing ground.
It's not loud.

Color from clay,
(my dearest sulfate)
I'll wash away three days
one glass with sparkling diamonds
drops I cannot catch.  Fingernails
orange and chipped, I sip

waste six more days
but saved my veins, still
dream of trains.
I think of engines, coal
and triumphant triangle
iron.  Trains have
become much more
than that.

CTA and there's no Racoon
roadkill.  White walls
around pink stink, black drops
of gum beneath me.

Maybe in daisies, I believe;
mosquitos and flies
I wear pants.  I've got
less eyes and more lies
than that.

Just trust the jeweled beetle bug.
Tawanda Mulalu Jun 2018
Do you have da funk?
    It's a kung-fu shuffle with hip-hop hustle
it tussles in nerve tissue and glows copper sulfate--
    when you string up so many ****** of course their eyes
    bob and ba-ba-dump da-dump  jump and roll out the sky like

                                blue,

I mean the colour blue. That's da funk colour.

                               Take a lone winter morning

in which you refuse to wake: this too
is da funk. And it sticks to you like gum on a shoe.

                               So you dance

in your head and you think of the purple fizzing
nights like Lil Wayne on lean he jumps, jumps
and ******* maybe it might make me feel good again, too.
https://genius.com/Tyler-the-creator-smuckers-lyrics
Berry Blue Jan 2019
David had a sling and rocks made of barium sulfate.
Fast and dense like that of a bullet.
David shot a gun at the Philistine pulpit.
Is love logical?
Is it topical?
I beat the tree and nothing falls.

Is it random?
Is it fandom?
I'm your biggest fan, so please sign!

Is it something?
Is it nothing?
How do we understand it all all?

Is it wishing?
Is it kissing?
You've got yours, so where is mine?

Is it easy?
Is it greasy?
Like driving a car down the highway.

Is it crazy?
Is it hazey?
Where does this road take us?

Is it fate?
Is it dates?
Let's do your way, then my way.

Is it make believe?
Is it what we conceive?
I don't think anything could shake us.

Is it ***?
Is it a hex?
Hypnosis at its finest.

Is it a look?
Is it the books?
Are our ideas the same?

Is it math?
Is it a craft?
Times. Divide. Add. Minus.

Is it art?
Is it open farts?
Could you never be ashamed?

Is it true?
Is it you?
I'm not sure, but this time: us.

Is is tame?
Is it lame?
We'll  never know if we don't try.

Is it perfection?
Retrospection?
I remember a time when we were happy.

Is it doused?
Is it when you buy a house?
Things are getting dry.

Is it news?
Is it confused?
I just want something sappy.

Is it the cat?
Is it the rat?
Which one did it?

Is it pride?
Is it a ride?
Rollercoasters are for kids.

Is it soul mates?
Is it sulfate?
Which one is it?

Is it fun?
Is it like the sun?
I just want to close the lid.
Love heartbreak romance hope
Mateuš Conrad Mar 2020
learning to sip warm
                           ***** like a brute...
      nothing much: much of anything...
"social distancing"... in the graveyard of "new"...

a pick from my closet...
my forgotten drawer...
                if i'm not: if i haven't been
in a "prison" for the past
             better half of a decade...
then i guess i haven't been
anywhere...
      that's why... nothing is pretty much
new...
    i know my medicine...
     looking at others taste it is...
an understatement of forever...
                    the they in "they" couldn't really
stomach a heaven of a solipsistic god...
or a heaven as a labyrinth and a library...
and all the time... forever and all the miles
of no no no no...

so much for pretty faces with
pretty words...
  so much for thurston moore's
'we rearrange strange the rubble
to let a forest through'...

we strangely rearrange the rubble:
or...
we rearrange, strange, the rubble...
to let a forest through...
here's to the die-hard grammar
nazis and nothing nativist...

               everything i had to learn...
about anything...
i subsequently had to negate...
     integration:
   where are you: where i was from?
all that... unless it was
and forever will be the lesson:
1 + 1 = 2...

           a precedes b...
but not unless it's backed up...
  too many rules in grammar to produce
a simple 1 + 1 = 2 arithmetic...

past-participle... will the hyphen die?
and everything will turn to the remains
of this being the child of saxony
in the remnants of chemistry nouns?
you could insert a hyphen... into:

hydroxychloroquinesulfate    
like so, nurse! the scalpel...
hydroxy-chloro-quine-sulfate...
          if language and letters were
as simple as 1 + 1 = 2...

                  i was going to say:
     i be saying...
         am saying...
                          be not say much...
pigeons don't cuckoo-call...
         stressors when strolling
with an addition of break a neck
when the mammal higher-up is
head-banging or raving...

              goose-stepping never died
whenever the mandarins decided
to march... looks like they are not getting
any marching orders...

modern warfare requires... civilians...
target practice...
the mandarins are too peaceful a people
to do a genghis khan stampede across
the world...

              but if they can slide a sly bullet
that can procreate itself and
bring the shackles: for all the gold pillars,
blunder and slacking jockeys
of the four horses... to see the sand foundation
all this freedom was built on...

hey: spin me another one...
i'm still just drilling myself to ease
one of those: sober justification for...
what came of the bread and the circuses?

between a tweedle dee and a tweedle dum...
yes, hello, please join us...
a soar... thumb...
a plum mascara from a clenched fist:
over... pretty much nothing...
or as was the case: something frivolous...
obscure... a tryfle...
                              yes: that's Y(es)
   and not tree'knee'tee...

life as imitation of all manner of inorganic
"life"... the mountain that's eased by
the wind to take on a different theme
of the pivot toward the pinch of a sky
that could collapse...

          puffy clouds that want to be
marshmallows... marshmallows that would
love to be less... oozed when staging
a fire-rite of being sacrificed to the bite and
chew...

such an unspectacular end of the world
scenario... scared people...
because: there's none of that certainty
of an asteroid inevitable "hunch"...
which makes it a very ****** end of
the world scenario...
          nothing from ancient greece
**** galore...
                 nothing from the annals
of caligula's reign: for each and every man...

or wrestling to the death with
all those hallucinogenics and rushes
of sweat and testosterone...

         the current humanity: a death
of vermin... quiet: the angel of death is passing...
quiet...
it's not exactly about not taking
the prescription of the government's:
under full-proof guidance "precautions"...

but if all were dropped on a heads-or-tails
whim?
    like that... like so...
    so much for anything:
ahead of the other idiot in the race...
deconstructed hierarchies of man...
pyramids fizzying out into a sand-storm...

such an unspectacular event...
the fame of a madonna or a don mclean...
because there's no chance in heaven
or hell concerning the man who
discovered that fermenting grapes would
ever give us wine...
or that part of not making bread
and instead making beer...

      so... un-spec-ta-cu-lar...
       but of course i'm certain this is only a mild,
minor, scare, one of those precursors
that acts like a sieve...
hardly a siesmic event to give us dinosaur
grandeour... overstating any prior
to (it) egoism of a banker's *******-fuelled
***-riddle-and-rampage...

the guys with the biggest hard ons seem
to be suffering from a mollusk limp-on-drag...
i can't remember the last time i was touched
for a love of intimacy...
forever the basic darwin of:
"****"...

                      as any misnomer...
it's hardly the sort of *** you'd forgive if
she was still wearing socks...
or wanted to do it under the bed-sheets...
if a person was going to overcook
pasta prior... they will hardly learn to cook
it al dente "tomorrow"...

too many a posteriori: language evolves
to give a proper, a priori statement...
too many undisclosed parallels and "what ifs"...
not in language...
bad grammar aside...
    aside from: that's not a soft boiled egg!

besides: the vietnam war had the best soundtrack...
and fb's portal: look at you...
best keep together, no?
the best songs and the most ****** reasons
beside: proper meat for the butcher's market!
shouts the cockney slang improv for
one of those rare occassions of a: drama-
period piece...         -tized?

what in the capacity of words' axioms can
be synonymous with 1 + 1 = 2?
i can't find anything...
i'm... probably not speaking the language
of a universal incursion...
there aren't any beaches of normady
when infiltrating the third ***** abstract!

should have stuck to painting daffodils...
or something... or prescribing myself
to limit my "artistic endeavours"
to sending postcards and licking envelopes...

some shapes "conjured" remained
intact and became letters... the greek delta (Δ)...
      called it: down-right governing
a cascade or the vector: down without
a direct impetus to do so...

said A to 1... said B to 2... C to 3...
D to 4... E to 5... F to 6... G to 7... H to 8...
I to 9... J... i'm hanging on to...
   the deeds and the subsequent
extinction of cuneiform...
                           until... VI "+" IV "=" X....
the "+" and "=" had to be surds...
when using the abacus... some ancient roman
humming: singing in a shower analogy...
when you had... letters as used as
both letters... and numbers...
a bit like looking at braille...

if there's a number indicator (⠼)...
why is it presupposed that everything else
is a letter?
                 ⠼⠉                 3...
                               and then there's just ⠉...
which is that umlaut part of U that's
supposed to be C...

before anything intricate concerning the subject
could be uttered...
there was plenty of chess pieces
and spatial and temporal awarenss...

the consistency of retaining the primitive
nature: how this inexhausted stupor of numbers
just gives on giving...
before anyone might have suggest:
chisel a mountain... before building a pyramid!
well... no word to "describe" it...
or rather... infuriate any other alternative...
cull the forest... otherwise write:
  
111111111111111111111111111
    1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1
1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1
1111111111111111111111111111
   1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1
1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1
11111111111111111111111111111
   1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1
  1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1
11111111111111111111111111
1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1
    1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1  1 1 1
1111111111111111111111111
                  1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1

a forest of pines... it doesn't matter
how much you peer into it...
no light will pass... just a segment of
a canvas that's either all brown...
or eyes closed... a juggling clown
worth of: would be entertainment...

i've been putting off seeing a dentist
for years...
i'm still putting it off...
i quiet like the pain...
the pain being... a consciousness
of a single tooth...
not part of the whole coronation
of either jaw or the skull's lining
of bite...
   i like the pain as much as i like
this pain of a loose filling
being my signature...

     "he" would have said: 100...
miles... before later suggesting:
by foot...      no... prior to the wheel
and whittle princes jumping onto
the bandwagon...
          100 as a concept of travel
came prior to: by foot...

                      0 - the original: multiplied by...
and the original: divided by...
at times when "x" and "÷" were surds of
the abacus... way prior to merely "+" and "-"...
before that ***** decided:
hyphen glue for words i are!
before all that...

                          we might as well not have:
mentioned a french man and the squeezed
omicron mirror...
or ∞... which is very much a surd...
an apostrophe...
   or a lazy 8...
                          a reclining venus...

we had numbers before we had letters...
well... before we had numbers...
we had to have had a nibble of inclination
regarding the O - the wheel -
and from that... 360°... which is 5 "°" short
of coming into the full perspective
of commencing and ending... a year...

4 "°" if you were to count the leap...
inter anno per quattuor...

      all of it, though...
                                     serious matters
need "readjusting" to...
                                most certainly... ice-cubes!
   i've heard and seen worse
scares in my time...
the mad cow disease...
                and in all this time:
wishing for death...
           is hardly going to be that much of
an easy affair...
                             you'll be bound to
gagging for it... like air...
existentially exhausted from that crux:
life... if so easy, or so hard...
could somehow mediate a transcendence
of the yawn...

    unlikely...
                                     i'm more likely
to keep my toothache... than be in want of relief...
for the sake of a tooth individuating
itself and ascribing to me
its individuated status as ailing...
from the firm grip concensus of the jaw...
and the congregation of all the other, teeth...
after all... a loose filling never did a Columbus...

it's hardly me and...
a ghost limb for a veteran's amputated arm...
scenario...
            if it were only an asteroid...
but it's not...
   it's a sneeze... a cough... a woozy day...
it's hardly the end of a creature
that made the colliseum spectacular...
or what was spectated therein...

           what it is... is...
                        a lapse in islamic terrorism...
i think that's a welcome break...
i'm tired of wondering about: not all muslims...
and the trucks of peace
ploughing through a street in
Nice... it's a welcome break...
         univeresally adequate...
         congesting the advent of...
                         and relationship between
landowner and the serf: not for long, though...

               too bad that it isn't an archetypical
fear to coincide with the classical
narrative of darwinism: a tiger... a snake...
a spider...
          it's quiet a modern ape story...
which does require us to have a notion
of a microscope...
   which makes it... m'eh... less seductive
in any attempts for: fire! huddle round!
tell stories!

                         the modern "ape" and
his... cough venom and predator lurking in:
a horror story told at noon!
again... boring the living daylights out of me!
The earliest recollection with
lower gastrointestinal eruptions,
viz psychosomatic induced distress
occurred when yours truly
quite a young lad, which specialist
invited me to ingest barium sulfate,
whereby the pinkish chalk like solution
traced a path thru digestive tract
visible while I stood behind a screen.

Rear lee if ever attested subject
suffices as an apt poetic title
amidst bookish canon - while
this writer (similar to other aspirants
in their respective creative pursuits)
aware arbitrary perusers may deem vile

core body of voluntary selective readers
mentally affix probationary trial
before unequivocally gravitating
toward my genre or signature
swiftly tailored harried style,
which unique modality
of expression eventually

accruing some degree of popularity
affecting unseen frown or smile
nonetheless, accepting, enjoying,
and tolerating how I playfully rile
aware that anonymous reader's
patience can wear thin relegating mine

worded persona on par with a reptile
unknowingly breaking fragile bond,
hence she/he might not reconcile
without awareness a valuable kinship,
dismiss me as puerile,
thus forsaking tenuous link, one

that may never bare tangible fruition,
yet all along self scrutiny occurs to refine
thy cerebral thought provoking profile
also intimating months gone by bias
arises toward my
figurative handily prehensile

expansive vocabulary, could
(and/or does) rank as a pile
of unpleasant gluteus maximus
sphincter muscle missile
imposing effort to tone down exuberant,
flamboyant, and gallant mercantile

flashing blindingly exasperatingly,
and inflamingly nauseating vocabulary,
not deliberately juvenile
but this luxe lavish embellishment
a labor of (lost) love with English
Language (inherent since...

in utero), thus...infantile
asper taking shape without conscious
deliberation, though imbecile
appellation possibly affixed
as lasting impression,
perhaps even engendering hostile,

whereat no effort to exhort
unconditional acceptance of me guile
will transpire, cuz this chap
recognizes how tenuously fragile,
the online choice to remain a steadfast
virtual friendship quintessentially fissile

oft times casting the notion how facile
mine arrangement springs from one
core textured intellectual domicile
that houses persona of one docile
amphibious descendent, whose forebear,
yes twas a crocodile!
Mateuš Conrad Jun 2021
sodium hypochlorite + <5% anionic surfactant (not stated, ammonium lauryl sulfate?)

even i thought that my chemistry days were long gone...
as ever... a chance experiment...
hell... i almost passed out since the scent of
the chemical reaction was so strong...
why on earth did i pour some sodium hypochlorite
into the shower cubicle...
subsequently... some descaling agent...
an acid... whatever it might have been...
acetic, diluted hydrochloric...
then again: it might have been <5% anionic surfactant
believe you me... i've heard of sniffing
glue... but this stuff... knocked me right
back... a citric saltiness so overpowering
i could have gagged... i pretty much did...
here's one for exploring new territories...
all in all: a salt-
               mixed with an acid...
i'm pretty sure there's a specific alkaline +
acid reaction: then again... i don't remember:
my Faustian days have passed in dealing
with chemicals...
nonetheless: a strange sort of high...
by chance: like L.S.D. or champagne...
i'm guessing... what got me off my rockers
was... chlorine gas...
i'll need to refresh my studies
concerning what happens when you mix
an alkaline substance with an acid:
well... bleach isn't exactly alkaline: chlorine-based...
errrr... let's see...
sodium hypochlorite +   what "genre" of surfactant?
NaOCl                                hell: the chemical company
     or NaOH...                     stated <5% anionic...
   both...                
                                          
https://link.springer.com/article/10.1007/BF02635807

******* amateur... who? moi!
oh hell... spilled wine on my beard...
a dizzying high: i suppose if the shower cubicle was
much smaller...
i'd be puking... who the hell thinks it necessary
to mix up bleach with a descaling agent?
probably just me...

thank god i don't think myself a genius...
i have had friends who thought just as much...
no brains behind: this is no Zyklone
no mustard gas:
come to think of it...
there were still pagans in Europe
circa 1412... in Lithuania:
while Muslims of the Ottoman Empire
remains were slaughtered by fanatical
Christian Serbs as late at the mid 1990s...

joys concerning the noble savage:
come to think... i'm backtracking...
i've become the most ignoble citizen...
it's not odd that attending a Catholic high school
they didn't teach us to code...
but i did read a load of Gnostic texts...
feel guilty first:
well... i walked around with
a t-shirt with the phrase:
******* IS NOT A CRIME
on the odd day when she coughed up
a quid to not wear uniform...

and all those incentives to fulfil the self-
(prefix attachment, careless)
with an affix akin to: -realisation...
"-ambition"...
can we truly generate: and keep it up...
for this... solipsistic placebo pill?
how staggering that i want to belong:
living in England while not being English...
while the English football team managed
the impossible of beating the Germans
for a span of years: dry for over 50?
my father asked...
why are they so competitive...
why not be competitive with the Spaniards...
or the French?
i guess it boils down to...
that... ahem... "miracle"...
during world war I... when British soldiers
played a game of football
with the Kaiser Crew on Christmas Day
in Belgian mud...

a day later they went back to the trenches
and aimed: the dead-shot
for the old Empires...
at least the 2nd World War makes sense to me:
the mythological evil of the Nazis...
such evil so well attired...

but i don't think that original football match
between British soldiers and the Kaiser Crew
on Christmas day had a specific name...
it probably did... ****... i was hoping noun-spectacular:
the christmas truce match...

that's why this relentless competition
between the English team and the Germans is so felt...
after all: the English rather remember the first world war
than the 2nd... ******* it on their island...
while ****** pilots took part in dogfights...
the old imperial powers came to the end of
their longevity... so... they turned on themselves
to flex their muscles...
it might have the status of a world war:
but it was most certainly the ugliest war...

good to know: that cleaning my own bathroom
doesn't require me to pay third party involvement...
it's not below me: thank god...
it's probably beside me...
if rewriting all those medieval fantasies
of being the sword bearer...
i'll be the inn-keeper...
i'll take most gratification in cooking some...
prawns with chorizo with linguini
in a spicy... tomato sauce...
that's me... i kind of like this advent of peace...
the world can happen and be what it is...

like today: i watched how U-KRA-I-NA
somehow managed to beat Sweden to reach
the quarter-finals...
i was jealous of the chad...
oh i'm sure there are plenty Ukrainian girls
readied for the saddle...
be bothered... be bothered...
sure... i'll be bothered:
sights of virgins?
give me 72 rottweilers...
and all the ****** you can manage in between:
i rather pay for what i the money allows...
i don't need pretences... lies...
faking it...
                  
   every time i feed into a little trickle of jealousy...
i'm reminded by a...
single thread of cobweb that covers my eyes...
when i walk into the garden for some ice...
always this single thread of cobweb
that's always aimed at my eyes...
how often does something have to become
plain: before it becomes this: blatantly
obvious...
                there's no Wittgenstein to mind
the tautology i just leveraged...

should i feel effeminate(d) cleaning my own
bathroom? i'm no actor... model a tourist of
the visage... but i want to live in a clean house...
where cats also occupy the same space...
i need a sterile environment to breathe in...
this is... somehow... a feminine trait?
primo! *******!
  i like a clean house because:
i like a clean house... however pedantic it comes
across..

even if i tried: by rhyme alone...
this was never going to be a revisionist take
on the divine comedy...
how many bad ideas have survived...
it's not "we" don't welcome them into the confines
of the dodo-project...

for the love of cooking:
or rather... not undercooking potatoes
for a salad... i had one of these...
over-cooking pasta that made a man...
deservedly abandon the woman
and eat take-away...
over-cooked pasta: let's... just...
eat... raw.... carrots... parsnips...
there are no obligations:
but there are also no obligations
for 3rd party resources
to cook **** for you!

               the saying goes:
the most impressive footballer in the world...
but he can't: can't he?
make his own...
carbonara? well then... the most impressive
footballer he is: finite specialisations
of "competence"...

i can't compete...
mundane moi: if i were only allowed to do one
thing proper...
but i haven't: therefore i wouldn't...
it bugs me though:
a little trickle of jealousy and i'm reminded...
by a single thread of cobweb
in the garden that somehow covers my eyes....

it's hard to think beside the already arrived at...
this immovable object...
with thinking reaching fantasies
of telekinesis... etc.
there's no potential... there's just this...
wall of sinew.
today – late morning of November 4th 2022
sudden onset experienced whereby
whooshing waste naturally flushed out
ala mine body electric performed colonoscopy
diarrheal gangbuster instigated
maybe Machiavellian microbe
with powerful ****** surge
analogous to invisible plunger
forcing out every last tidbit
constituting raw bits of
partially digested food
propelled with pronounced might
found yours truly pooped out.

Mine earliest recollection with
lower gastrointestinal eruptions,
viz (diagnosis courtesy medical technicians
informed this then youngster
stomach ache symptoms
disappointingly jump/kick started,
concluded, and associated
with psychosomatic induced distress)
occurred when sexagenarian - me
quite a young lad, which specialist
invited me to ingest barium sulfate,
linked with class of medications
called radiopaque contrast media.

The suspension (liquid)
worked by coating esophagus,
stomach, or intestine
with material not absorbed
into body so diseased
or damaged areas
could be clearly seen
by examination or CT scan.

Once I grudgingly swallowed
the pinkish chalk like solution
a path traced thru digestive tract
visible while I stood behind a screen
subsequently no life or death crisis evinced.

Rear lee if ever attested subject
suffices as an apt poetic title
amidst bookish canon - while
this writer (similar to other aspirants
in their respective creative pursuits)
aware arbitrary perusers may deem vile.

Core body of voluntary selective readers
mentally affix probationary trial
before unequivocally gravitating
toward (or being repulsed away from)
my unique genre or signature
swiftly tailored harried style,
which modus operandi modality
of expression eventually

accruing some degree of popularity
affecting unseen frown or smile
nevertheless, accepting, enjoying,
and tolerating how I playfully rile
aware that anonymous reader's
patience can wear thin relegating mine

worded persona on par with a reptile
unknowingly breaking fragile bond,
hence she/he might not reconcile
without awareness rejecting valuable kinship,
immediately dismiss me as asinine or puerile,
thus forsaking tenuous link, one

that may never bare tangible fruition,
yet all along self scrutiny occurs to refine
thy cerebral thought provoking profile
also intimating months gone by bias
arises toward gobbledygook
figurative handily prehensile

expansive vocabulary, verbosity could
(and/or does) rank as a pile
of unpleasant gluteus maximus
sphincter muscle missile excreta
imposing effort to tone down exuberant,
flamboyant, and gallant
gibberish bookish mercantile

flashing blindingly exasperatingly,
and inflamingly nauseating vocabulary,
not deliberately juvenile,
but this luxe lavish embellishment
a labor of (lost) love with English
Language (inherent since...

in utero), thus...infantile
asper taking shape without conscious
deliberation, though imbecile
appellation possibly affixed
as lasting impression,
perhaps even engendering hostile,

opinion, whereat no effort to exhort
unconditional acceptance of me guile
will transpire, cuz this chap
recognizes how tenuously fragile,
the online choice to remain a steadfast
virtual friendship quintessentially fissile

oft times casting the notion how facile
mine arrangement springs from one
core textured intellectual domicile
that houses persona of one docile
amphibious descendent, whose forebear,
yes twas a Democratic crocodile!
Computer gods walk all over me
My crooked dice yield ferrous sulfate
Just as soon as I feel you cursing my name, you embrace
But I feel confused now and I don't know you anymore

Nobody thinks they're Jesus here
Options sink to the bottom of the ocean
People sing songs they were always going to sing
I **** on the sour stone of jealousy and offer dim-witted approval

I am the one straddling it
There is nothing we can do

— The End —