THC Meets Poetry

Brain Dead

Empty head. brain dead. Body heavy with weighted dread. Constantly forgetting the words that were said. pills make me feeling robotic. I'm seeing things that are incredibly hypnotic, but I can't seem to  make sense of it. There is no logic. Science cannot define a mindset that is this toxic.

My spirit is aching for a chance to bathe in my lover's energy. Side to side I want to sway in her memory. Sometimes she's in my embrace and other times she evades me, but it's driving me a good kind of crazy. I'm in love with her maturity. I get drunk on her impurity and high on her provided security. I'm cross faded from her affection, but anytime she has tried to get to close to me she has had to face my deflection. My vulnerability has been placed under serious protection.

My problem is that I am obsessed with the idea of you, but the real you has me feeling a soft shade of blue. I would rather fall in love with a fantasy because reality makes me sicker than the flu. Her love may be real and true, but I refused to believe that because growing up deception was all that I knew, but I never told her that so she never had a clue.

Why do I bend over for these men if they just makes me feel used? The feeling of their clammy hands on my body makes my eyes fill with tears, and I shamefully walk home with far more psychological issues.

I'm not his girl and I'm not his guy, I  couldn't even make him finish and I couldn't understand why. I felt that I wasn't good enough for him which only led me to bleed and cry.

This poem is messy, but when you are brain dead things can take awhile to process and get ready. Understand that
Promises of forever do not impress me, they just depress me. I know that they are lies dressed up as fireflies. What a clever disguise as I am completely immersed in the glow of your insincerity, it gently rains down on me and fills my soul with fire and glee, putting me that much more into this fantasy. You have now become an addiction. A need.

I have murder on my mind. Knife in my hand the devil sends a chill up my spine. The taste of my own blood on my tongue is bitter and fine. "No need to struggle darling." Satan says to me "we can take our time." 

He proceeds to ask me "Do I scare you? Get your adrenaline pumping? That gets me excited and jumping. Your internal screams are making my own organ experience thumping."

I am in hate with myself, I long to break my own heart. Make you fall in love with me and then press that self sabotage button to make the scenario restart. I idolize you now, but then later I will believe you're nothing more than a moving part, and I'll find myself back at the store loading up better traits for my ideal partner in my cart. I will do this until I have created the version of you that pleases me.

A version of you that eases me, and takes care of me. Somebody that rids me of this constant ache and need. In the end I know that version of you doesn't exist, but you wanna know the interesting twist? I would rather take the drugs that bring my fantasies of you to life than be with any guy or girl on the dating list. A
Comfortable silence is something I've missed. To be alone in this emptiness is something that I believe I want until she presses her lips to mine and I get a taste of her kiss.

I'm full of confusion. I feel as though I am caught up in some crazy delusion. I want a stronger solution. One that will get me fucked up and want to start a revolution!

You know pretty soon you will be reading my suicide note, and it will be something spectacular. The greatest story I ever wrote, and when you find me lifeless... sail me away with that poem in a black boat. Let it burn and become a tale only told when the brain is provoked.