MrSteak63
Bluelighter
- Joined
- May 12, 2006
- Messages
- 159
I wrote this straight from my head to the keyboard without really thinking, and it turned out...oddish. Oh well.
Something is in the air the last few days. Shifting thick waves of paranoia flow past my arms and face and make me lean in ways that I don't need to.
Shifting personalities as 300 minutes pass, will this stick? My brain isn't a burn husk as most would believe...is it?
Nothing is to be sure of at a state of pure static chaos. A thick muck of a swamp where you wake up in the bottom with a leaking lung full of air and you push yourself upwards through it all one euphoric experience at a time? Or is the world a blurry yellow desert where the air is so dry it's filled with fiberglass and you're always coughing up the next pool of blood?
Words string out from anothers mouth to form a visible diagram of ideas and intention only to be interpreted by the over analytical and understood only by the unconscious, one man unable to find the warm static between the two.
Insomnia is a problem, it stretches your mind to the point of constant reflectivity and strung together thoughts of the day before held together by the events today. Unable to rest, the mind recoils in fear, and spits forth it's poison to compensate, dripping out of the eyes of the marble statue into the mouth, causing the once immobile figure to move in ways it wasn't meant.
Woman in my head, my change is imminent. Body and brain function are sure to change with the familiar tide that's coming in, for the better. Functioning only to make socialities work like a clock, ticking in order and never moving backwards, despite my obligation to the pharmacutical companies.
Who am I kidding, analyze and interpret.
Something is in the air the last few days. Shifting thick waves of paranoia flow past my arms and face and make me lean in ways that I don't need to.
Shifting personalities as 300 minutes pass, will this stick? My brain isn't a burn husk as most would believe...is it?
Nothing is to be sure of at a state of pure static chaos. A thick muck of a swamp where you wake up in the bottom with a leaking lung full of air and you push yourself upwards through it all one euphoric experience at a time? Or is the world a blurry yellow desert where the air is so dry it's filled with fiberglass and you're always coughing up the next pool of blood?
Words string out from anothers mouth to form a visible diagram of ideas and intention only to be interpreted by the over analytical and understood only by the unconscious, one man unable to find the warm static between the two.
Insomnia is a problem, it stretches your mind to the point of constant reflectivity and strung together thoughts of the day before held together by the events today. Unable to rest, the mind recoils in fear, and spits forth it's poison to compensate, dripping out of the eyes of the marble statue into the mouth, causing the once immobile figure to move in ways it wasn't meant.
Woman in my head, my change is imminent. Body and brain function are sure to change with the familiar tide that's coming in, for the better. Functioning only to make socialities work like a clock, ticking in order and never moving backwards, despite my obligation to the pharmacutical companies.
Who am I kidding, analyze and interpret.
