Euphoric Discomfort

Specks of deformed and malnourished thoughts-

Scour through months of sewage and debris-

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And at 2:26 a.m. my concepts and feelings-

Are being streamlined-

As delicately as sugar is blown-

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A tedious tortuous task-

That never takes its' intended shape-

And often shatters before it is placed on the display table-

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The liquified meals of the day soak my dry tongue-

And I gulp down the river of acid my dam couldn't stop-

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Sweat glazes my hand and I trace my clouds and mountains-

Oiling my thigh tattoos, tending to my canvas-

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A black spot soars across my glasses and I swat at it to protect myself-

My coarse coils twirl around my pointer finger to ground me-

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I vacuum all the air my nostrils and lungs can withstand-

Waiting on a whiff of white tea and sage that lies sedentary-

Instead the odor of blandness stings the back of my throat-

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I am clawing and scraping to present a complete thought before I collapse-

So I feverishly attempt to compound my thoughts into a resin textured waterfall because blown sugar was too fragile-

But 37 songs of other people's self expression tunnel past my ear wax-

Causing 111 cracks in my creation-

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My body starts producing its own salt based waterfall-

I ooze off the velvet couch to the hardwood floor-

Edge the table out of my away-

And I perilously connect the shards -

Staining the glass like material with blood from the fast appearing cuts on my hands and knees-

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Time leaves my consciousness-

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When I reach the climatic placement of the final piece of my makeshift, unrefined puzzle-

My chest completes its final death roll-

I rise-

Glance at the product of my euphoric discomfort-

And turn the lights off