I was trying to see clearly with a thicket of weeds growing from my eye sockets; pliable and dextrous, crystalline vines massage my stress into lethargy. All of it: A distraction. A crutch to support the inadequacy of my immediate environment and my unsatisfactory perception of the present. Orgasms quake throughout my skin for no other reason but to release the tectonic pressure of my frustration. I flower, and consume my own pollen, so as not to waste the precious granules on dead-end winds. Something here is out of balance, but I don't hold the proper scales.
Instead of sleeping I eat two enormous blackberries. Instead of dreaming I fill my mindspace with Buddhist ramblings and drunken edifications. It's like this thickly knotted blanket of night is guiding me towards the