like smoke but no cigarette
only the buzz of the radiator fills my mind
a fever dream the color of raw flesh
under parts peeled from cuticles

a haze of memories
soaked in sludgy glue and paper machéd together, a new skull cap

I don't know you -- or I do?
many days I've spent with you but
your eyes are now parts of the ocean
I have not seen

the voice rattles in my chest but
it is not mine -- or is it?
I never know these days

messages I don't remember sending
nothing is real
smiles I don't remember receiving
nothing is real
everything is fine
I'm not going crazy but if I was


I wouldn't remember.

9 times turning those cellophane pages, looking for a little sliver of comfort in between the lines of "thou shall not's";

8 years old when receiving my first condemnation to hell;

7  nights spent wondering what will happen to my soul while the molecules of my ashes find themselves stuck to the walls of hospitals and picnic benches and gas leaks on gleaming wet streets;

6 times I stared at a kaleidoscope of holy colors and listened to the words tumbling out of the pastor’s mouth like children playing sharks and minnows -- but couldn't hear;

5 times the hymns of love rang out in the steeple, and 5 times that warmth and love was able to seep through the pores of everyone, but me;

4 pairs of hands and faces turned upwards, smiling, like a child running to meet its father in an airport;

3 moments I watched salty tears drip from closed eyes, merciful mouths moving, grateful to be accepted, grateful to be saved, bodies swaying and auroras mixing in a mess of hues;  

2 times I willed the chills of spirits to roll down my spine and fill my mind with the answers I can't seem to find;

1 God I am told to put my trust in;

0 times I believed.

I used to think I was an artist but

I couldn't quite draw the way your lip curled up towards some mocking god
"oh honey, don't you know? artists don't live well"

I used to think I was a philosopher but

My mind couldn't quite wrap around ancient Greek mythology and, anyway
"where you gonna work, the philosophy factory?"

I used to think I was the next president but

I couldn't stand quite still enough to speak in front of the crowds and, "women aren't presidents sweetheart, you should be a teacher"

I used to think I was limitless but

I couldn't quite sprint through that ribbon, at least, not the way they wanted me to.

Even little strokes
open up
great heavens
if you try

People will try to brain wash you
  They pelt their ideas,
    Throw their beliefs in every direction
      Hoping that one of their bullets will stick.
    People want you on their team.
  Any idea or belief opposing theirs?
Well that’s downright disgusting.

  Convert to this side,
    Sway to that
      Sometimes it’s fiction
    People forget about the fact.
  What happened to individuality?
The choice of right or wrong?
  It’s beginning to be so hard to see
    Where one fits amoung the throng.
      You begin to shift your own ideals
    You begin to change your side
  Simply to blend in with the crowd
It’s just another way to hide.
  You hide behind that thick façade
    Always worn for show
      You’re melting inside little by little.
    You’ll be nothing before you know.

I have a habit of packing a labyrinth in the back of my hippocampus,maintaining balance,like coasting through ocean,its outlandish.I'm on the tangent of ravenous madness complete with calculus captiousness capturing the effect of parabolic randomness.Long story short,I'm just dramatically imagining,I think my genius is overactive again.Calamitous analysis compatible with harzardous pathogens passing through passages to the abucus of antagonists,but its backwards,shhh.