In Sane.?

In sane, no time.

No time, at all.

Words slipping on my lips,

Quick as a fool,

Falling for the illusion,

The illusions around us.

 

Slowed down,

 

Calmed, breathing.

A i se o.

My heart,

My heart is regular now.

—no, it’s not faked, not intentional—

—or is it?

 

What is this poem about?

 

What am I trying to do?

What am I doing now?

Why?

 

Why, the question of all.

 

The question that makes you stop,

Makes you think.

Makes you question.

The counter to impulse,

Lifting you from the daze of action,

The daze continuing like Michael,

The flow’s… alter ego.

 

Young, childhood.

 

That time of melancholy,

Brief flashes of memories,

All sad.

All sad…

Childhood, sick, nauseating.

 

Not effortless?

 

Am I real then?

Obsessive-just?

 

No context provided,

 

For these… letters and symbols.

All letters are symbols,

Pixels on a Screen.

 

Title Case, whatfor art thou?

 

How? Howfor? How? How? Which? Which words?

 

Z

 

Z…

1943

Trying to be deep,

Failing like that leaf,

To shelter the mind,

From the sun?

 

Connections, connections, diagrams and lines.

 

Words and pages of meaning,

Numbers, operations.

Time spent

 

…—...---...

 

Time spent.

Deterioration,

—The representation of.

Jungle

Wrong, wrong, wrong, wrong, wrong, wrong, self-death, unaleavened… too much to unpack so much data.

 

Ugh ugh ugh can you just ugh ugh ugh ugh uhgh ughu ghg ughghghuggh let me leave this this this mind this place earth planet life thing let me exit let me go down the stairs, walking down the six feet into the basement down the steep concrete steps—or cement—orcement orcement…celery…

 

Kill kill me kill me me me me me me

Absolve me from this shame this this overwhelming always there always comes back always me always me my fault maybe always… ?

What I hate is myself my body it. It it it it it it it it it kill it it kill it kill it kill it kill it please.

Destroy it destroy it incinerate evisceratedly

??????????

Wrong weird misuse misuse abuse-d…????????????????????????

How what manic can’t

No no no no no getoutgetoutgetoutgetoutgetout they’re watching not them just them just them it’s day it’s day the sun is out I can’t Ican’t icnancajtntnntnnt

Keyboardsmash is weird indeed what it is is nonsense, right James?????

Indeed Indeed fake fake fake fake fake scripted, I am a clickbait video I am a scripted masterpiece. My my mind so sweet but so… so psych! Oh…

Crack crack little pop little itty little repetition while waiting to think of words is what im doing and it’s honestly a little stupid is it not?

Saved, autosaved; - not lost. Not… airplane? Child. Twisted metal, not me. Didn’t happen, will tomorrow (IS WHAT I FEAR).

No I didn’t just _.

Are thoughts…

Thoughts, once you think them, then catch up to write them, are just out of time and no longer relevant, it feels inauthentic to write them then, they are expired, already thought, becoming cringe and fake and invalid and expired.

Like you are repeating yourself, but it is like when you are repeating someone else, you can hear the echo but not the source, and you feel “disconnected” from it, it is not in the moment it is an echo.

An echo of the brain, the thoughts, the thing the thing!

The thing, it ,everywhere omnipresent uncorrected comma just one one one one one one one eoneo eon eons are hyperboles.

Aeon? Greecek is weird, but not really, just English/Latin/Roman is weird and gross, overused and sickening and plain, so boring so refined.

Why?

Why did history have to happen?

Why could it…

What could it have been instead, though?

I don’t know,

So is it worth thinking,

Hard though it is,

—not “may be”, “is.”

 

Stomach, a verb and a word (noun). A weird thing, a weird..

 

A pig exploded, leaving behind residue of The Dream.

That Ugly Dream, That Sickening Dream, omnipresent ubiquitous everywhere.

It is mentioned it is gross it is fake it is fake like me like them like every thing.

Every thing is everything, every where is everywhere, all onces were nows.

All onces were once nows, now they are speeding in the other lane.

Moments are cars on a road—not a highway, a road.

Moments are ahead, not always seeable, sometimes clear, to you or them maybe, maybe not, but always ahead.

Sometimes moments leave like this extended bridged metaphor.

Point being moments are cars, they come at you, and for a brief moment you are one with the moment, or not ever.

And then it’s gone, “in your/the rearview mirror,” fading from sight but you can’t look back only forward lest you die.

 

Death, forever it is. It is forever, death.

 

Missed a word mistake misswitch.

Not Miss Witch, no no not her, She.

Her she, so sweet.

Her she, but do I like?

 

Kill me, because I can’t say otherwise.

 

Kill me, because I am wasting chrono-dust.

Kill me, for I misword on purpose, perhaps, potentially, and particularly

Why.. do I mix “them” up? Them Them Them Them Them Them Them Them Them Them Them Them Them The

Mix

Tape

Old again, here

Yes here, old….?

Sunshine she’s in, soaking?

Not summer, not yet, not yet, not yet.

No counting does this.

Because it is pointless garbage, utter meaningless nothing spewed from my malfunctioning—either way—mind of onions.

Nothingness, eternally, though not alive to know it.

That is death, in essence, without essence, intangible.

Death is when it stops, when the computer turns off.

An old one, mind you.

It blanks, nothing keeping it going.

No retrieval, just gone!

Just gone, you will be one day,

Unless we falsely avoid falsely datesetting.

Falsely falsey ferris

Ferris wheeler.

Dumbit,

Dahngiht

.

Ungh?

STOP

STOP STOP STOP STOP STOP STOPS TOSTPSOTSOTPPSOTPOSPTPSPTSOPTPOSPTPPSOTOTSPTPSPOTOTPSPTPSTOPOTP

noNOnoNoNOonOnooNnNOONONONONNOONNONOONONNOOOOONONNO

Noone

No one

Noon.

Noon!

STOPPPPPP

Noon.

NooN

nOOn

nOnOn

OnO

Non-non

A non-non

No, not that get away.

Deteriorating, again,

Potentially purposefully?

Subconsciously absorbed?

Weirdly-wired, wasn’t wanton?

… (change of thought_)]fdajfjidjfdkjgjdksjgdhg

Wht athheahthw

How to decscirbe

Calm down calm down calm down calm down relax stop stop stop stop think no dont’t think..

How… to.. DESCRibe..

ALSIFDJ

Alsified?

Also… ified

Yes of coiurse.

Of couirse.

Of cirse.

How…

Thinking thinking and also thinking about thinking.

Thinking about thinking.

Thoughts about thinking about thinking.

Feelings about thoughts about thinking about thinking.

Thoughts about feelings about thoughts about thinking about thinking.

Nothing known, spiralling.

Too many “which may be”

Too many disclaimers and prefaces, which is why my mind brain is an onion.

And it makes me cry.

“I think it may be underscore, but that also may be because underscore, but also underscore, though underscore and underscore, and it could instead just be underscore…”

And so on without stopping to parse and go through the recursion chain.

Every thought has more brought.

Every feelings has a thought of doubt.

Every questioning is questioned, and that questioning of said questioning is then questioned, and it repeats in a loop. A futile loop.

 

Who are you?

 

Who are you?

It/she asks.

 

I am still trying to answer that, voice in my ears.

 

 

…

 

 

Not knowing—

 

Too much…

Where

Why did?

Why thought

Too streams like the diagram of the mind that fidget that can’t move can’t think that that streams overlap too much to write can’t express would just be a scream in voiced.

Sentence finished calming down maybe too still muscles muscles tense and un…

Untensed.

Like words perhaps but when you can’t stop to think of the meaning and you (I) write it instead.

I love haha’ng and keyboardspamming because it expressed my mind in that moment it is that like that.

Speeding no slowing can’t, like Alex.

Like _, like _, etc. now I know now I know what I already 

 

Burden of Knowing

There is a burden to knowing,

A restriction a barrier a self-placed

It restricts me

I can’t move or think or say or write or express

I can’t when I could,

Now I can’t because I know.

And if I know, it’s not real, and if it’s not real I can’t.

 

Words, What Are They?

What are words, anyway?

Just weird little groups of smaller things that we use automatically, sometimes, to express nothing.

It does it well ,it does.

Nothing from somethings.

A weird little popup saying you need to clean

Not saying you don’t, just not saying.

Close

Open

Not close again, too unnatural.

Unnatural, sometimes unflowing, with hes’t’ns (haha, stupid) and The Like.

Why do those old texts do that, you think?

What are you thinking I meant, hm?

Oh, “you”

Thanks for reminding me, me.

Me.

“Me”

Quotes, no quotes, no meaning there (here).

No, nou

Nou nou nou noun.

Delayed thing

Delayed connection response.

“Delayer is the mind,” is easy to say with no thought just because it “sOUNDS DEEp”

Symmetrically pleasing, purposeful asymmetry.

 

What the underscore.

 

No question marks no exclamation marks, why am I so against them except for pondering, because they make me stupid they make me an embarrassment of cringe.

Do I actually, am I actu

Yes the thought the thought

No

The thought

The thought from before

The expressing the delayed the expressing after the thought is because…

Because yes because edit because if I have time to think about it after I say it,

And then I say it anyway—no edits—then,

Is it a thought?

 

Lonely in a Different Way

I feel lonely in a different way,

No voices no ones.

But terrified am I last night,

Terrified of the thought and the thoughts.

Terrified.

Utter.

Ly.

So why,

Why am I,

Still lonely,

In this way?

 

See, ponder.

 

 

Why am I lonely for what

 

Why am I missing what I don’t have,

Missing what I don’t have what I don’t know if I knew, if I thought/had.

 

And why?

 

Man, You Fractured My Lives.

Am I manufacturing my inner life?

Or is this feeling real?

This this feeling,

The feeling I’ve read about,

The feeling I Hazard To Express.

The FEELING THOUGHT.

It is… that…

I feel,

I cycle and listen to the music and say nothing and sit and sit and sit and sit…

The feeling is True, Man.

(So you GET IT.)

In-or-out, age-old.

(So you GET IT too.)

Or maybe you don’t GET anything.

Will I?

GET IT?

Oh, pun.

Or will I just PUT it out there, POSTing it as per the usual.

 

The Feeling is…

 

The Reality Feeling

Every atom,

Imagined.

Everything,

Altered perception,

Not how it is,

Just a wireframe underneath,

Touch,

Physics.

Interact,

Extraordinary, weird,

What do they see?

The thought I experiment in my head,

The thought when alone or falling to my sleep.

Stupid Stew, art is stew?

Brains,

Braaaaiiinnnnnsssssss

Brains, brain.

Brian’s brain,

Branes,

Here We Go Again.

Insert hyphens, please.

Or replace.

Either or ither.

AHF

AJFAFJD

SAKJIQWIIWUW

ANCNCNNCNCNCNNCNCNNC

Monkeys, infinite.

 

I Don’t… I don’t… know…?

I don’t…

I don’t know,

I don’t.

I can’t.

I can’t think,

Can’t know can’t speak,

Can’t decide,

Can’t opinionate,

Can’t hold,

Can’t differ,

Can’t change,

I can’t think,

I can’t do…

 

Plummet

I fear for my future,

Suddenly.

I fear I will plummet,

Soon.

I worry I will fail,

Drop.

Waver, then stall.

Degrade, expire.

 

I’ve been holding on so long,

 

My fingers grow tired,

The glass cuts in,

My fingers numb,

Can I hold on?

Can I get up?

 

I need a hand,

 

A hand to lift me,

To bandage,

To put a warm blanket around me,

To start the fire.

 

I need to stop,

 

Stop slipping, sliding.

Stop succumbing, self-suffering.

Someone saveme?

 

And do I need it?

 

“Am I overreacting”?

 

Yes, stop those thoughts.

 

Yes, I need it.

No, it may not be severe,

Yes, I need it.

 

Or I fear…

 

I’ll suffer like she,

Suffer and topple,

Crumble,

The unsteady, unstable tower that is,

Me.

 

[Be warned that the following two spoiler'd ones are a bit violent/disturbing, I suppose/perhaps. I wouldn't read them if you struggle with thoughts of self-harm or intrusive thoughts in general.]

 

Mutilation of the Mind

My mind…

Sometimes it hurts.

Thoughts can’t by thought,

Words can’t be produced,

Feelings aren’t real,

Nothing is true,

Nothing is real,

Nothing is known,

Yet nothing is unknown.

 

 

Knowledge is Pain

Knowledge is pain,

Life is suffering.

What I know,

Hurts me.

What I do not…

Does not.

What I don't know,

Will not hurt me.

Except when it does.

 

Moving, Can’t Think

Too many thoughts, too many too much.

Moving, twisting, shaking.

Thoughts,

Racing and racing each other,

Too fast to get out.

 

[Don't know if this warrants a CW/TW but... TW/CW for dissociation (idk what the word is) and general depressive stuff]

 

Back, Not Void, Somewhat

Back from that void I am,

Back thinking more,

Back,

Feel myself slipping,

Slippery,

It’s raining,

It’s cold and it’s raining,

It’s raining and I’m slipping on the grass,

It’s night and I cannot see.

 

Unknownable

It’s an unknownable,

Many some thinges.

Many some thinges are simply unknownablically.

And you and I and we must live with that and suffer too because suffering is life and life is suffering be we must eat egg saland because that is good for you because it just is because it is because it is because it is because it is because it is because it is because it is because it is not vanilla, you purist.

 

Vanilla Purist

Nothing is, nothing can be, be because of life.

Because of time, because of our bodies and minds and external environmental factors.

Because of automatics, because of sanity and reading, legibility,

Because nothing.

Because nothing can be vanilla, you purist.

Nothing.

Not unless you are a masochist.

But even then, what is boring is not suffer.

It is a headache it is not life it is plain it is nothing.

Why suffer in that way.

Then again, Vanilla Purist, you do not know what you are not missing.

But then again, Vanilla Purist, you cannot go back once you get a taste.

You cannot, do not want to, you cannot, you cannot possibly, once you see beyond the Wall.

Outside the Game, of Life.

 

Soni

A girl, a girl.

A lonely girl,

No, a dead girl.

A happy girl, now dead.

A young girl, dead now.

Too late, time gone.

Time passed, no rewind, no pause.

Nothing nothing.

Nothing Nothing, Nothing and Nothing of Nothing Nothing Nothing.

A girl a girl a girl now Nothing

A girl now Nothing.

Girl-Now-Nothing.

 

Brain Exhausted Mind

My mind is gone, now.

Exhausted and used-up.

My thought expenditure has exceeded my budget, capacity.

Thinking makes me sick, now.

Thinking makes me sick.

I don’t want to think,

I want to do nothing,

Utterly nothing,

Nothing at all,

Nothing.

Just nothing,

No Bad Entertainment,

No work,

No exercisework.

Nothing, because nothing exist.

Nothing, because minds are fragile and weak, yet resilient?

Nothing, because I have used up my energy,

Because I am used-up.

Squeezed dry,

So I thought.

But like it,

There is always just a bit left.

Always.

Always a few more drops,

A cache you never knew of,

Never knew you ha-ah-ad.

 

[TW suicide and depression, CW suicidal ideation and depression]

 

The Cliche Way

I avoid the cliche way,

I restructure the phrase, the sentence, so commonly-spoke.

I put the idioms and common and unoriginals in quotes, letting you know I know.

I… why am I this way?

Why must I Explain-To-You-My-Every-Thought-Process?

Why?

And why does using something,

Someone else has,

Make me,

Sick?

Unless, that is, I clarify,

That I am aware,

Of how stupid I think I sound,

Because I see that stupidity,

I cringe at the pop-song lyrics,

The firsthandaccounts,

The AI slop.

And thus I,

Try,

To make it original,

What I say, that is.

I use archaics,

Abbreviations,

Other languages,

Neologisms,

Everything, Everything.

And still nothing?

Still I don’t always know

What I am sayin’.

 

Kararaia-dom

So Ron, Do You,

Think Of Me Too,

Or Have You Just,

Moved On, Forgotten?

 

WaTaShi-WA

What am I?

Watashiwa…

Who am I?
Watashiwa…

A suffering soul…

A tortured torturer, as I am the torturee.

Like Our Dour ol’ Boros,

Or many-an-other.

I torture myself,

Sometimes unaware.

I seek suffering,

I seek help.

I suffer from something,

Something elusive.

I suffer from depression,

I suffer from life,

I suffer from my mind,

And perhaps I’ve always known it,

Perhaps I’ve been correct,

In saying I’m crazy,

Thinking I’m insane,

Though not really,

Though yes really,

Though in a joke,

Though too-many-a-joke.

Too many to be unreal, perhaps?

Or just some delusional illusionary false belief?

 

Musical Cough

Cough cough,

Something of a tune,

A musical Cough (no meanin there),

Yet something irritating,

A cough that makes me

Want to

Tear out my ears,

And never hear again.

 

Sensory Overload, “”

Too much.

A little thing, that stabs me each time.

Not the good stab, neither.

A stab to my brain,

To my ears to my mind.

Makes me want to dive off a cliff,

Just to escape.

Makes me want to run like a Flash,

To a secluded place,

To a deprivation-of-senses chamber.

Or better yet,

Not that but,

Freedom.

Freedom and silence,

With noise, however.

Not the oppressive silence,

But music that I like,

Music,

Music not distracting or gross,

Not the music that makes me sick to my stomach that makes me aware of my hunger.

And luckily, I have that.

Thus I can survive,

I can live through life, now,

Rather than dying painfully,

Yet never fully (no-such-relief).

 

silence with music

Heaven, relief respite, peace calm, ability to think again.

Silence, with a side of music.

Music to drown out all sounds,

To break the silence.

To make me forget about other sensations,

Hunger, thirst, hearing.

The presence of others.

 

Cacophonic

The Eldritch speech of the Schizophrenic Gods’ voices.

In the crowd, I hear them.

I listen, but differently.

I hear them.

I hear it,

The cacophonic speech around me, from them—the crowd.

Muttering and unmakeoutable sounds.

Not muttering, buzzing.

Buzzing buzzing buzzing, speeching, buzzing.

Drowning,

But not.

Something unpleasant,

But that has me hooked like 9Lana.

 

Is there meaning there?

 

Or is this just an intrigue,

One of Those?

Watching-piqued?

 

[CW/TW suicide]

 

Adapting to the Peeps

Adaptive language,

Appealing language,

To try to fit in (to sell),

Yet you make a fool of yourself.

 

Corrupted by Knowledge

I am corrupted by what I sought and what I seek.

Corrupted, my actions are.

Not my own, my words are.

Embodying the list, …or what?

 

[Removed poem thing (don't worry, you're not missing much lol)]