"Maddening" A Poem

[MACstar]

I wrote this poem while I was meth'd out of my mind. It's jagged, but it speaks volumes about my mad mind lol. It is about being in the midst of "The end of the world" and seeing things as they really are, as opposed to how they appear.

We'll board carousels,
Arrange makeshift memories,
Accompany me,
Stationary movement. Steady momentum.
Let go of tradition,
Make sure my actions exchange shifts and shield logic.
Whatever my rampant will enforces along premeditated scenarios,
Underlying rules and dividends dictating provisions like pendelums undeniably swaying here nor there.

Yet, settling for mediums of familiar relation.
Simple.
Complicating majesty and elation,
Natural and chemical.

Why must I fight for pole position?
Stray from the masses and question?
Insisting on the efficient host?

...............Join us.

We can all feed on that which doesn't abandon, Judge or Hide.

My intentions?
Soft................
Fertile.

This is a different kind of existence,
Interchangeable even.
Parasitic Ritual,
Shapeshift Child,
Grow before me, Humored by my familiar face.

Answers ridicule like Contemptuous Rapture.

Silent witness; Emerge.
Provoke pride after ever growing ranks as discoverer.
Remember? conservation proves challenging during drought?
No Societal Intuition!
But the desire to quench wells through rain?!?!
To dabble in this days design?!?!?

Nobody's perfect!

Yet........................None appear Flawed.

 

[Counterintuitive]

I have found that drugs rarely heighten or potentiate my creativity. Or at the very least, any type of sustainable creativity. I do my very best in refraining from negativity, so I will simply try to think of this as a Pollock painting - I'm just not seeing the fractals

 

[MACstar]

^ Heh, Yeah. I don't see any factular activity myself. I was hoping maybe, someone could make any sense of it since I wasn't in my right mind when I wrote this. Essentially it wasn't even me whom wrote this in the first place. My hand merely served as a medium for this maddening mayhem of a draft. I am puzzled when I look at this. To the naked eye it's terrible. Ugly.

But something in me extracted ink to paper, and must have had something in mind while this mess was borned. So possibly someone out there can "Decode" this disaster?