Incandescent

my mind
glows bright incandescent
it flows and burns through
my fingers and spills lambent liquid
everywhere

it is incandescent
smoldering, scalding,
the sensitive fibers in my brain
only endure half of its capacity

it cinders my scalp
it burns and burns through my skull


it professes everything
everywhere

What are you going to do for the rest of your life?

Nothing.
I'm going to do nothing for the rest of my life.

Why?
Because there are restraints for people like me. Restraints in white patterned cubes
and dark rooms full of empty thoughts. There's a place for people like me and it isn't outside
or here or anywhere.
I'm so tired I don't want to breathe or move.
What's the point?

I'm really

fucked up.
Nothing new.