Inebra Sense

I want to regain that sense of life, that verse I used to know.

That sprung with the resurrection of greening trees,

but blackened, gnarled, lay dying, crumbling and dissolving in head hung isolation.

Nerves too unnerved from the loss of electric touch.

Inopperative like old copper wiring.

Trapped within their confines and rotting from the insides.

Totally unable to function

Only what I used to know and still missing that familiar sense.

The sense that couldn't exist without a fix or couldn't breath without smoke

Or feel the acidic stomach eruptions burning holes through walls and spewing forth.

Somehow self-filled the emptiness, thereby completing the irritating task of seeing things full.

The optimist slant truly and armed with a time bomb,

Designed and positioned in nature to destroy, regardless of the individual.

Yet only blowing up in my face, an anesthetic awe, elevating me to a surrealness encased in fairy tale mush.

After all, it all died.

Fell out of it's nest and broke it's neck.

Or lost the strength to keep the seeds nourished and didn't give a f**k since it was too hard, anyway.

Impossible to be trapped in 9 to 5 Pahrump when I know 24 hours of Vegas looms somewhere.

There is a memory in the wind being carried across fuzzy landscapes where it's always windy.

I need that simple life again;  Tired of being an inebriated inconsiderate and an assasinated confusion.

Confusion that camera shutters failed to close and pens lost their purpose in ink.

That the stars crossing had somehow been misinterpeted by observatories.

Of how the bubbliness burst and thoughts scattered haywire between popping wrists and slashing pills.

Until the eclipse moved on, relinquishing with it my sight and the chronic sense that something isn't right.

 

Author's Note

Ignore grammer problems and spelling please and take it for what its saying.