This isn’t meant to insult anyone, though I’m sure it will at some point. I was entirely insane last night, poured my bits of thought out through the keyboard, and here lies my brain, simplified for your aesthetic pleasure. Comments, anyone?

Stark Raving Mad

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What am I saying?

Do you know who I am?

I am NO ONE I am NOTHING

Don’t speak to me you lying bitch

Yes I realize you are a part of me

A shadow of my mind

But you don’t matter, you treacherous whore

Just another of my ignorant thoughts

A perception of nothing

Quite a concept that is

To be nothing is to not exist

Does this mean you are nothing more than a fantasy?

I believe I’ve gone insane

Stark raving mad

Such a beautiful portrayal

Of nothing at all

What the hell do you mean when you say it’s all in my head?

Are you here to understand me?

Luck to you

I don’t even understand myself

I speak, words flowing endlessly

But I have the most trouble decoding myself

Which language do I speak again?

I only understand English

But I think my brain speaks Latin.

Orange memories and purple toads

Acid trip

Hello Alice

The red pill or the blue?

You are the one

Use the force

A mirage of destiny

Damn fate, fooled me again

What do you expect, when time stands still?

I can pull the bullet from your heart

But I can’t heal the wound

And it seems to grow larger each time I stab you with the scalpel

A skeleton sits at the doorstop

Waiting for the train

The sign speaks; “exempt”

But what definition holds such a word?

It’ll be along any time now

I thought once that I might hold some sort of intelligence

I never realized it was only artificial

My gray matter made up of protein, formed of amino acids

How can miniscule particles of nothingness form thought?

It’s all a state of consciousness beyond rational expressions

Mathematics, mathematics

Parabola, hyperbola, ellipse

Why would I ever need to know you?

My tax exemptions are strictly algebra

And dear, you belong in a box.

What the fuck is that supposed to mean?

I lost myself back at birth

From then, The Others took over

Those little bits of nothing floating in my brain

Some call them thoughts; I call them otiose

Names are futile

Why refer to useless bits of prayer?

I’m not Christian, no intoxicating cult conforms me

So why the hell did I just mention a form of speaking to myself?

I don’t understand what I’m saying anymore

Incapable of full-blown sentences

I turn to this form of corrupted innocence

Some call it poetry but really

It’s just shit.

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Heather M. 11 April, 2005