there's this constant buzzing in my head. perhaps I'm a hornet's nest?

all that's left of my right frontal lobe
is a blown speaker
shorted circuit
and seven pounds of dynamite,
judging by the weight of it.

bones rattle, lips crack
and nothing comes out.

trying to form a sentence
is an exercise in precision and patience

finding

each

word

and

trying

to
keep

some
form

of

order

to

the

whole

mess.

but maybe it's for the best.


you see, I've seen myself running at full capacity.

and I'm not sure the world will ever be ready for that.