Gray Matter Residue

We're made of drugs

fused in the chaos of a gravational clutch
a million year summer dis and reassembles
photons before beaming through their own creation, leaving absorbtion patterns in gray matter that tell us how to feel

are my chemicals making you ache
when they're released as i burn?
have i laid waste to self-control,
or have you realized we've never had it at all?

affixate on failures outside of ourselves;
my only fixation traces the veins to my heart
to know where to bleed and when to breathe
and how to speak from saddened bones

the most tragic of words echo in the clearest of nights; unheard, except by the moon, who hears our secrets and locks them up within its dreams as it sleeps

teach me how to runaway
or to live with who i am
either way it'll never change
a blanket to salvation
for a pandemic that's idiosyncratic