I am restless,
Unable to think straight,
Or quantify my emotional output.
My head is full of glass,
Or buds of cotton;
Unsure of the viscosity of life
To which it should align.
What frequency to tune into
Without those neural connections
To illuminate a path with their neon certainty.
Streaks of yellow pain
And dullest thunder clench my back,
Cause my neck and spine to scream purple rage,
As I bend and twist,
And try to calm my aggravated,
Agile heart; and transcend my
Physical state to a more
Agreeable, supernal mode of transport.
One that carries me forward
On a cloud of nines,
Where the rain ever falls beneath me,
And the sun warms
The vapour of my aching form,
Releasing it back into the