Round round round round
Stop start, round and round
Stop the spinning. Let me rest.
Is this a test?
A test to see if I have to do all of this again?

No more mistakes..No more anger.
Goodbye frustration..
Seriously? Never happen

Round round. JUST STOP
I wanna get off.
I need shhhhhhhhh. Get off the the **** up train .
Brain rest.

Cup me protectively .. Hold me gently.
Fragile synapsis..Broken and no connection.
Not firing on all cylinders.


Stop start
Round round
STOP!

Brain root receptors taken hold
electrically charged cannadis synapsis
I smoked with jay, **** followed and road
it went so deep, straight to the core
back to when I couldnt see any more
Too many revolutions in my head
11,000 or so, with many more to go

pHARMicutIcals they ******* HARM U man
Fructose, Aspartame, Floride stain
the weather man is ******* with our brains
Just flush the **** straight down the drain

***** Leaves a resin stain
on the synapsis of the brain
Lubricated, Nurished
with no neurological pain

These lost years of loneliness and social depravity
Have left me with nothing except this written tragedy
I sat and watched as the walls of my life crumbled away
Into this contorted sensation twisting through dismay
These ceaseless rememberance sessions screaming inside
A dead fixed stare on old friends taking cyanide

These bonds have come together in such a swift motion
And, just as fast they've came to their abrubt destruction
Dispersing any tint of mutual belonging from view
Molding a sad landscape of sighs and failing virtue
Watching as the remnants of my relationships loiter
The catacombs of these stockpiled confession letters

If only I could say anything my empathy had to tell me
My skeletal pose might have perched upright in a higher degree
And I would of have grown to a more formidable size
A clear cut aspiration that I never came to realize
Until all that I held grew too big for me to carry
and left me to stumble and sleep at the cemetary

Scratching dead love songs on century old gravestones
Where the forgotten have slept for generations alone
Hoping the crude penmanship might grace a weary heart
Or help a looming ghost feel a taste of love and depart
From the fog filled graveyard parade that it dwells
A final ringing from the synapsis of the greif bells

Sparking the ruin of a memory that doesn't seem real
A fading echo of a brotherhood I wish I could still feel
Detached from a reality that lurks in a decrepit imagery
Reshaping my empty cognition through a fake neuro surgery
I've reached the point where I have no reason to find
A replacement for all these buried pictures astray in my mind

it caught the corner
             of my eye

Pavlovian neck twist
jarring synapsis
                  tears followed

was it a ghost
or flickering dust particulate
                   sent me
                             crashing into your picture

sitting crisscross
considering memory’s place
longing to touch your finger
              

                               soft sunlight played
                               dog dander and field burn
                               swirled in the long evening

the radio crackled
long forgotten songs
        played on vinyl

once again they fell
    
                  Is today your birthday?
                  Anniversary?

numbers blur
last year’s calendar
still hangs
         rectangle wall stain

emotions wipe away
mental images persist
a face through the years

               suddenly I stand alone /

Stars in my eyes keep me alive
Gets me in gear and shifts me in drive
My manic synapsis turned up so bright
I’m all alone but I don’t really mind

Science is the understanding that nothing is lost,
But everything winds down.

There is no beauty in science, some said, no art.
I refused: Some, God, silent doctor waiting at the door-
I refuse.

There is only this tragic struggle:
Your heart, carrying all the implications
Of a watch left in desert, must eventually fail to keep time.
I would know why the stitches that wound our heels,
Blossoms of Achilles, are the heart’s most desperate gestures.

I want to look at your heart, hearts.
Aspiring a capella,
The down-singing choir in my hand, your heart reveals.

First, I must understand the laws of motion,
Wave-forms, cryptic anatomy of silence and not-silence,
Only in your mind, your body is a law unto itself.

First, the Archaea, frustrating enigma that never speaks.
“Where did you come from?” I asked.  
You smiled, as if I were asking
Who of us is more than water?
Why aren’t the stars alive?

Selfishly, our endosymbiosis called its questions as demands.
How can this work?
You look like someone I knew before…
I want.
You cannot leave.

I must submit to examination.
The machine will tell us if my heart speaks in murmurs,
But not if I am heavier than a feather,
Not if we did or didn’t know what we were doing.
You invited me in, and it was raining so I stayed.

We violated the lens, spoke too longingly of light.
You saw the defined spaces between the foam.
In a tangle of bed linens, I dreamed of pulsing Farandolae,
Paired for synapsis, migrating to the metaphase plate,
Ripped from sound’s embrace by their reluctant roots.


*I will be vaccinated against harm, but not shadows, not time.

You know that feeling
When you get inspired
Something deep inside you
Is locked and loaded
Ready to transpire
Making thoughts come to life
Making what you feel
Burst into flames
And burn…

It’s like a warm campfire,
And the smell of
Smores and hotdogs
Are on the tips of your tongue,
Like back in the days
When you where younger…

Cause when you’re four years old
Everything seems to be so alive
Cause you’re not worried about
“How the hell will I make ends meet?”
Or “How will I survive?”
You’re so focused on living
That life tends to slip away…

When life slips,
You soon begin to notice,
That things aren’t the way
They used to be,
Seeing that inspiration
Doesn’t come as quickly…

Sometimes it’ll take
What feels like forever,
Just to get those
Old dusty synapsis to fly,
Take flight and mirror
What I feel inside…

Cause digging deep is easy,
Translating it though,
Can take some time.
See my soul
Speaks Latin,
A language of love to the core…

I only speak English
With a bit of French
Which is quite poorly done…

I try so **** hard,
Just to pour out my soul,
And let you splash around
Till your soaked with my ideas,
Shivering with my experiences
I just want you to understand…

What I’ve been through,
What I’ve survived,
How I was before I had to fight,
Just to stay alive…

See when I was little
To be inspired
Was a natural state of being,
Now it’s just
Plugging my mind
Into an outlet
Hopping the socket
Isn’t dead yet…

Cause I’m dying a little
Each and every day…
I just want my words
To have some meaning
So when I am gone,
They’ll all have something to say…

I don’t wanna change the world,
I’d be satisfied with
One heart,
One mind,
One soul…

Cause ever since I decided,
That putting my pen to the paper,
Was a good idea,
I’ve wanted to impact
To change someone,
Just one…

Cause life’s a big domino effect,
If I can open your mind,
Maybe you can do the same some day?

All I want is to inspire,
So I pour out my soul,
And write my life away…

Disjointed reflections of vertebrae
that were fluid in the synapsis of
                       my subconsciousness.
they were inadvertently disjointed
              from my walking thought.

Then I fell beneath the tower that
I had build within,
               collateral damage of life.
Broken windows of reflection that
I tried to close, but lacerated my
cognitive actualization of self.

That which severed my validity of self
             was pendulous, but with a
string we can weave something new.
Not as it was before, more worn and not
so luminous, but what was lost is gained
for that voice a lingering a shadow of before.

On the outside looking in are hinges,
they keep together the things so willing to fall apart.
When gravity does it's best to pull away at the seems
a thread and a needle will do.
Push me in and pull me out
these games that are etched in my mind
like to play hide and seek with my emotions-
so I wear my heart stitched upon my sleeve
for everyone to see.

A scarlet letter in the shape of a sin
once more and once less
I have shown my true colors and they all bleed red.
Purple is my favorite color but my aura seems orange lately
which is to say a part of me is being washed out.
The crease between my fingers has gone cold
and sweat is the only thing I feel there most days.
Someone hold on to them
someone remind me what that feels like.
Then don't.

I am too outspoken and
not enough backbone.
Too passive agressive
and not enough passionate.
These bones are filled with oxymorons
and there's not a **** cell that can help
aside from the prison-like one inside my head.
Get me out of here.

Discourage the synapsis and spark a fire inside of me.
I am begging to be undone again.
The only thing I know in truth
is that I do not know enough-
and my hands shake on more days than just one,
more chances than just two
and more hours than just three.
I dig myself out of envy
and birth myself from accomplishments
so it is to say I'm still a kin,
still a figment hidden inside another.
This life of mine is structured out of a person
I don't know anymore.

The pills made me different,
the pills make me better
but who is this person I see now before me
and how did all this progress lead her here
to the place where she dreamed she would be
the one where she is not shaking anymore
at the thought of waking up the next day
the place where conversations can flow
and ideas can be explored-
she can finally catch her breath.

The weight that has burdened me
from the breathing inside of this chest
has been sent away to it's original owner
it seemed he went to the gym to lift it
just so he could gain strength from the struggle.
Push himself further than I ever could
but these things inside of my chest are strong now.
I can feel my heart beating again.

Round, round, round, round

Stop, start, round round round.


Stop the spinning. Let me rest.

Is this a test? A test to see if I

have to do it again and again?

No more mistakes. No more anger.

Goodbye frustration.

SERIOUSLY?

Never happen.

ROUND ROUND ROUND

Just STOP. I WANNA GET OFF.

Gimmi some SHHHHHH !

Get me off the **** up train.

Brain rest

I will cup you in my hands,

protectively..Gentle, " I'm

fragile" it says.

My synapsis are tangled.

Stop start round round

STOP

My lips stick to her neck like honey.
As I try to pry the pain from those lips,
Her skin melts into my fingertips.
Pores exchange their whispers.
The ******* buzz of electric
Synapsis soon surges through flesh,
Contextualizing the vitality of breath.  
I suffocate as my soul drips like molasses
Down the small of her back.
The body is the mind—
You try to help it, but the perfume
Of her heat hypnotizes you.
Just let it go, let the sugar consume you.
Her lips stick to mine in the morning.

The war started slowly, and then all at once the battle raged on.
Serotonin against synapsis,
a battle to the death,
a savage fight to declare victory.

In reality― you were
in a ring of fire. I had been
left with no claim on you.
Your failure had become mine.

This was not the game―
changer. Moon had latched
on the watery eyes. Synapsis
had started to break away.

The god wears different
apparels― as per the need of the
occasion. Nobody is going to say,
rest in peace.

Gradually I will stop
speaking about myself. When
my time comes, I will lose everything
and set you free.

The blind eagle will find its abode.

shapeless form flowing easy
whirling and twirling to infinity
colliding with memories
and creating delusion
synapsis fire seemingly random
shapeless formless mass shifts
altering long held beliefs
and morphing religious boundaries
gifting treasonous ideals
to steadfast personal decisions
without consideration to ramifications –
free flowing thoughts cascade
leaving trace elements behind
fitted with apparatus engineered
to change one’s mind
create a new thought pattern
extend and elongate the process
into criticality
the path to becoming a critical thinker
is no longer marked or taught
it has become up to the individual
to learn this important and valuable skill
lest we all vote Trump
and live on McDonalds –

"this is hoffman, what's going on, where can i find her?"

"there's a nursery rhyme delivering your baby in 114."

"wait, what are you saying, ma'am?"

"nurse heimlich is delivering your baby in room 114!"

"oh sorry, i've been under the weather (chasing the dragon)."

      the fog finds you,
      it'll take your place in time,
      there is no rhyme or reason,
      or even frame of mind.
      the fog blinds you,
      it can't segregate,
      it'll capture all your secrets,
      it doesn't hesitate.
      
      memory recalls you,
      don't procrastinate,
      synapsis fire like machine guns,
      in the middle of the day.
      sensory remembers truth,
      better claim your fate,
      this ain't the time to run,
      new life won't cleanse your slate.

"jane! i'm here. how is our girl? where's doctor klein?"

"she's..."

"shush! mr. hoffman, i'm nurse heimlich. please take a seat.

there were complications with jane's umbilical chord."

"****."

"your baby's lung collapsed, causing her to suffocate. now, we did the best that we could, but the air and blood just wouldn't flow back to her heart."

"i was told there was a nursery rhyme delivering my baby in 114. this isn't a nursery rhyme!"

"then learn something from it, mr. hoffman. I sure am."

overcome with thankfulness and gratitude
sitting in my regular life
with my common car
enjoying brain chemistry
free from lapsing synapsis
and misfiring nodes
I live mentally healthy
it is my joy –
of course I get down
the weight of the world
attempting to rest on my shoulders
I shrug
pull the rug
and unplug…
do mounting bills cause pressure?
could a opinionated youth
be reason for irritation?
are stinky dogs
enough to make one curl into a ball
and cry or stare
trapped in despair
hair all messed
acting contrarily to your ideal of self…
the point is
the world is not all roses and ice cream –
we all face adversity
we all experience anger
when we allow that feeling
to rule our lives
we are slaves
to chemistry –
I know, I know
Where is my compassion?
Where is my empathy?
I just don’t know what depression really is
I just can’t relate to a lack of attention
I just don’t understand the pain……
Yes,
I do…….
I just get over myself
wash my **** face
and step out into the day



try it –

Belly up,
The brain is now molasses.
The slow synapsis can't see the scowling
faces.
Build the bridge and engrave his name on it.
He will not pay you a cent for it.