I am

vacuous, i suppose
utterly empty
and entirely void
of all except
the disgusting wallop
of a heart in tune
with the steps that
echo down the street.
against the tree
do vision fly of
ambiance and lullaby


I push the last of the air in my lungs into great bubbles that race to the water's surface to explode and disappear all at once before I emerge from the bottom of the tub nose first. I leave most of me submerged letting my hair snake around my face, framing it like a lion's mane. I think the water's too hot because my skin is red and livid, but I can't seem to feel much at all- neither internally nor externally. Inhale. Exhale.

The weight is saturated in the parietal lobe, but is being extracted and dispersed through the frontal.The sound, however, is untraceable; it radiates deep through my brain simultaneously in a deep roar and a potent squee. Over that I hear my detached heart thudding the soft lullaby in response to soothe the pain,   'I am. I am. I am. I am. I am. I am.'

Bronzed Moons In a Socketed State

Every visual experience is unique to its own; I will never see through your eyes and you never through mine. We sit so tightly together, but our universes created through our consciences will never collide. Instead our intricately programmed realities exist symbiotically in a moment of eternity.

They call it consciousness, but I know it's really a constant monologue. It's my brain quietly discussing with me the chemical triggers it is experiencing from every sensation. Sometimes it speaks in words, but's it's mostly an aurora of emotions and flashes imagery from distant memories. I don't mind it. I like it.

The more dense the input, the more rapidly the monologue expands. Another process for this cranial squish.