My poetic fluidity... Out the window My thunder storm of ideas on the land of my brain Its sunny now And me I'm broken Out of words to type But full of the emotions to feel What does one do when they are uninspired Just sit Its not enough I need to write for my hearts healing But my brain is out of words It can no longer heal Maybe its done And now its sleeping

What if oxygen was just poison that took 80 years to years to kill us? What if we were really on a speck just like Horton said? Of what if one day you woke up and your whole life was a dream? And what if heaven is real? Would God be foreskin if Jesus had not worn the crown of thrones But rather wrapped them around his knuckles? Or if Adam had not eaten the apple But instead the girl? Would I be forgiven for not knowing the things That so many people act like they know so well?

I hear whispering and piano playing in the pit of my left ear But its okay because the whistling is coming And yes my room is silent And my brain is empty And in the strangest way The mind conjures up these things called words And puts them in your head Streams them down your arm and into your fingertips Where the energy is transferred into the pencil and on to the paper To create the magic of insanity