Frontal Lobe (otomy)

And me lost somewhere in oblivion,
Where the dunces sit,
Help me,
As I and I and I,
No longer want to feel this agonizingly painful,
Angst ridden life,
Manic up,
Manic down,
Fixated on a million thoughts,
Each as dastardly in creation,
For I can focus on all and none,
All at the same time,
I analyze,
Everything that I take in,
I and I and I,
(Me too)
Want to experience life fully,
Want to experience life not at all,
Want to run from this temporal world,
But I cannot,
I must not,
I will not,
Give in to mediocre thoughts of self-destruction,
As some ritualistic flagellation,
I cannot,
Must not,
Will not,
Allow these demonic thoughts,
At times momentary,
And at others as I stare into the abyss,
Of my once fractured mind,
Into the cubist portrait of a donkey’s ass,
For if I give in,
For if I allow,
I and I and I,
And not me,
To control these urges,
Certainly I will be a jackass,
That’s why I fight,
How I fight,
Is right here,
Right in front of you,
Do you see it?

Look hard.

I and Me and I,
Are battling this I,
That we may afford ourselves the luxury of surrealist impressions,
Captured perfectly in still life,
One second let’s go,
A donkey’s ass to be sure,
The next,
Find me a female form that I may praise,
That I may filter opaque thoughts with transparent meanings,
Me, I and I,
Crush this I,
That our vapid thoughts,
Have misconstrued realities,
Are the momentary reprieves?
The transitory suppressions depending on the day,
So I lash out,
No longer,
I and I,
To a bottle,
To a drug,
Or to the female form,
No I lash out vehemently,
To no longer endure,
The torment of this self-mutilation,
For my lobes,
Go untouched,
So long as I can show you,
Though depressed,
Though angry,
Though troubled,
Though fragile,
I can still tell the difference between a rational thought,
And a misconstrued one that threatens all that I am.



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