My desk is splintering –
     Each time I go to pen a poem
     I end up with pinpricks and in pain
     Wooden needles dwindling my thoughts into half nothings.

But wearied words keep bubbling in my brain –
     Like fermenting fine wine
     Dazing my work with stray sounds
     Their dull fiery fury only serves to slur my speech.

The page is inked with nonsensical rambles –
     An unedited outlook of my inner mind    
     A canvas confettied with crap
     Everything was purer as a blank slate.

I busted my ******* hand and it wasn't because we fought -
Only because I couldn't handle the manifestation of my paranoia.
Now it hurts when I wipe my *** or lift my dog, meniality becoming a master task.
A reflection of me that isn't me passes by with a strong stewed vegetable smell. My dark green sweatshirt rigged into the main grid of the city; its fibres and style backstreets and pulsing.
Not like I don't recollect who I am anymore after never knowing - visions of a man's head being crushed under train wheels giant and rusted foaming and screeching with primal rage, confettied brain matter explodes like a firework across blackened earth; children will investigate the remains with sticks.

The second time

was at a celebration of souls
where creesed-up eye lids were adorned
with laughter and teeth confettied all around
i
in the midst of the vibe
had my mouth open in accordance with the dance of laughter
when your scent found my tongue
through conversations, amplified throat vibrations
it took a while to savour you flavour
for me to feel

"oh
its you again. "

i tried to spit you out like I do with the rest of them
but I didn't.
i couldn't.
you seeped into my conscious, strongheld my reasoning
and I still don't know who you are
what you are
how you are doing this
i'm just left blinded to everyone
and focused on feeling you