This lobotomy is free so sit back or upside down like the inverted cross everyone assumes is tattooed on the inside of my cold spine I want the blood to rush to your head so you have an idea of how my mind works of how it feels when everything is going just right or injustly wrong there's always the rush always the crush and yes always the fucking brush I'm no painter but with letters and characters I do what I can Would you like to see how my insides dance? Pure chaos impure discordance if the answer is no too fucking bad baby because that's where we're going to be deep in the thicket right in the thick of it the point of no return is now

There is no science to it I wish you could fathom the depths of my unfathomable subconscious the leagues beneath skull fragments and within labyrinthine pinks that compose my brain an organ a musical instrument sheer noise uninhibited notion brimming with regret a rim job of thought creative oceans that know no off switch I sometimes wish I could eviscerate my mind curse Thoth for this burden sever the brain stem cease that trickle which gives my imagination life although it'd be a shame to throw all that away a curse and a gift or so they say but personally it is neither it just is it just is, this organism this beating organism of bewildering existence one worthy of study intense scrutiny at times and during others ya just gotta step back and bask in both its savagery and its compassion both its seamlessness and its unthreading ruthlessness

I yearn to slather you with the notes that drift through my marrow the little symphonies that conduct my movements when I walk into walls or stumble trip on my own feet when my blood ballets but my body follies I am a mess of a man I am a homo sapien I am music sentient there is no beauty to the monotony spilling or staggering from my tattered lips there is only dissonance but in it dwells a sentience I cannot readily identify you've just gotta take it with a grain of salt or a speck of sand in the hourglass and then when you're ready drop to your knees unhinge your jaw and let it engorge you ‘til you become one with the glass in shape and timelessness succumb to the flow of immenseness in the wavelengths that swim in your veins and in mine and in the roots of the spaces betwixt

I'm beginning to think there's something wrong with me (no shit, Sherlock) I've got this sickness a wretched addiction to feel mortal against my better judgement there is a little voice in the back of my head in the shape of a tongue lipless but not without big fucking teeth the trachea of a snake deceptive and so goddamn promising then when I'm weak (when I'm happy) it moshes to the front of my mind and I become powerless a host to its wickedness I dispossess myself for a moment for a slice of eternity and then I avoid my reflection because the glass has become sullied and I cannot see through to the other side all I might glimpse is a glance of fruitlessness and I want to die I want to die I'm running in place sinking to the depths I want to claw off my face a plush deathwish slit my throat and maybe just maybe that inner voice will drip down and spill out and shut the fuck up once and for all

I am but a cadaver FUCKING WORTHLESS my words no more THAN PESTILENCE

I dig a hole six six six feet deep and throw myself in just a part while the rest stands topside shovel in my hand spade in my teeth ready to bury alive that which is responsible for me aching to taste stainless steel I can't wait to watch him beg for mercy plead for a second hundredth chance I can't wait to flood his lungs with dirt inescapable earth (can't fucking wait)

I shouldn't be alive but I am against all odds still I tower over my bad moods my shit vibes and my self-destructive scheming tendencies still does my breath materialize in the old air and still do I sweat my hands shaking when something goes wrong when I make a mistake against someone I love when they're in pain or when they're hurt still do I write and speak and scream and seem to everyone else that life is peachy my mask has seen its fair share of struggle it's scarred and battle-torn but what lies beneath cannot lie about these feelings and I'm left raw to crack myself open like a watermelon more rind than juicy flesh but I assure you I'm not all stone though even rocks can be porous and rest assured I won't rest until I've poured every ounce of honesty never shy of brutality from my bones where masks have no business being and I'll wear nothing as I fillet myself to your ears not for them but for me you are merely a witness to this death to this sliver of rebirth my confession my resurrection

I'D like to welcome you to this arena of insanity this little slice of personal paradise not without a lick of hell (as I'm sure you can tell) so fucking delectable look deep and steady into my eyes what do you see? besides a jungle, a menagerie that mirrors the bedlam wreaking havoc in the chasms that make me me (that make me me) I swear I'm going nuts with bouts of joy as if I have no choice as if I'd ever choose otherwise and my jaws have become and this soul has become some kind of monster a chatterbox that doesn't know when to put a lid on it but that's okay I'll talk my own ears off if you'd like to keep yours thing is I see nothing wrong with wanting to voice my opinions and discretions my perceptions and spiritual discordance this vocal self-expression has become a drug a savory addiction one I can neither shake nor would dream to shed away I just want it out to pollute the air if neither art nor poetry (a statement I don't debate) whatever this discourse is then it must be insanity yes it must be palatable INSANITY and if that's the case then so be it, baby lock me up in a padded cell I'll throw a fit without fail while it won't shut me up I can summon no better plan than to abandon me and let my feral creativity my uninhibited asseveration frolic without abandon so let the barred cage shut lock me up and throw away the KEY

She's got thighs that defy the weather thunderous and tremulous if everything falls into place she's a goddess sculpted from the flesh of ancient earth she is the temple itself beckoning my worship in every manner of the word I seep in through her subconscious when sleep holds her captive and worm my way into her cranial catacombs unite the spirits untie the binds that keep us tethered to this material world I seep in through her astral sex tickling the cervix of her celestial apex our zeniths overlap and from the climax spills a new kind of map uncharted and unchartered (til now) my flag planted her white soaring high I watch it fly as she makes me cry to heavens undiscovered (til now)

There is a difference between getting something off of one's chest and actually taking a pair of retractor clamps to pry open a moist cavity where emotions drip and metaphors ooze but I digress whatever this is I can't say that it's final frankly there is never any finality in anything I say or do it's just this constant spiral of verbal bile and I'm projectiling everywhere I turn my head even in my sleep and at the precipice of unconsciousness do I spew this meaninglessness I doubt myself more often than not but I've come a long fucking way to simply roll over and play dead so I don't fuck around anymore if I'm gonna give up for good I might as well swallow a bullet but that won't be happening anytime soon I just want to gut my heart and the spirits dwelling within it for the world to see and hear for anyone who cares I have forty-seven books out and I know I should be proud it's been a decade since I started self-publishing and for the last four of those years I've been daydreaming about turning my car into an accordion I just want someone to listen but in the end I favor, truly favor no one tree therapy and music no matter how melodic or savagely raucous will always be more therapeutic than any advice given by someone who doesn't know the shit I've been going through I'm not special I'm pretty fucking far from it but ultimately I'm just a vessel trying to make it through another intergalactic mission of individual survival am I going mental or have I finally found my calling? I'll always be insatiable when it comes to writing but right now I feel gluttonous to deflesh my soul until I have no listeners just myself slipping through the fissures adorning my inner being because seeing is not worth believing you've gotta feel it, really feel it and almost anything I do with passion is worth jettisoning into the atmosphere even if it falls on deaf ears it will have been worth the energy giving me more space in my lungs while adding another unprecedented pigmentation to the palette of my internal dimension (I can feel the vibrations in the bones of my soul) I can feel the vibrations in the bones of my soul to accept this inspiration a paradoxical energy of chaos and love as if adding another section to my spiritual library I hope you'll come read with me and if not that's okay one can't truly be remotely happy without enjoying the company of their own heartfelt insanity…