Brain Splatter

Today my mouth is stitched.
I find my loving anecdotes flying out the mind-rift.
Locked inside my head at different levels of obliqueness.
Squandering and wandering with a certain kind of richness.
Bouncing off the walls, sending thoughts to come and fix this.
The key, they cry, we see, they try, is me, they lie, we're free and die.

The mind is a delicate thing they say.
With fire for a will still it beats to decay.
They try to pick its locks in hopes to foray.
Mostly it owns you and corrupts your story.
Don't try to control it, it controls your control.
It'll end up real bloody, with mind against soul.
Telepathically try to pry open a hole.
To find it's empty and filled with coal.
Tick, tock, tick, tock says the hands of the mind.
Uniformed disaster from above and behind.
Possibly it'll send you a overview, send you to customer service and take you through a walk through.
Interjection from the floor where the connection is true.
If you mess with the mind, there's no guarantee on the box it won't mess with you.

by Verasailles
posted on 06/17/2008