chemists.

a costume of chemicals,
a medicated masquerade [like cinderella i'm dropping pill bottles behind me
and waiting for salvation, dreaming of a hero or just a way out]
polluted noise and broken sound-barriers,
diet ex-goddess poetics,
an all-seeing shaman eye with hypodermic eyelashes that i pricked my fingers on over and over
just to feel like god and the puppetmaster again
techno soundtracks stuck on infinite loopholes of coughing up toxins
that i've taken all too willingly, injecting myself with this world,
this inane methodic sin
...the taste of death is so smoky sweet... -the world is a mess,/ it's in my kiss-
spilling forgiveness out on bathroom tiles and wondering
if my dreams are made out of the smoke from my bong or if
it's just a haze of a haze
dreaming about personal [r]evolution
...and if i could ever really find it at the bottom of my bed
because by now, it's not even a choice
the use and abuse is a state
of mine, a state of mind,
and i'm taking all the wrong pills just to feel right
because i smile and it's fake
but the pain is just too real for me to handle
on my own
the human mind seeks a balance,
and mine is buried deep inside chemical inbalancing and overdosing
(i know it's just one more personality complex)
and i'm downgrading
shifting in secrets and possible lovequests, swallowing ethanol
and dreaming of maps underneath skin
trying to trace my veins, my road-lines, out with razors--
failing miserably--
waking again like lazarus with hangovers and a renewed sense of meaning
that dies before the night does
and my head is stuck calculating calories
because i'm so fucking scared,
because i'm stuck on the things
i swore i'd never even start.




[but mostly because i miss being more than scientific notation,
i miss really being, instead of just existing through chemistry and compounds.]