If I could do what I wanted,
I\'d become a complex chemist.
I\'d organize the vials of
Hormones in my head.
I\'d find a leaking beaker of chemicals
Of precious dopamine.
Sleep the day away after fixing
What was left inside my brain.
Slap a bandaid on the cracks
Of serotonin and shame
And find a different way to ask
If there\'s been any updates?
My nerves would be inhabiting
The shaking tin foil muscle mass,
A tiny orchestra of xylophonic
Notes and complaints.
The part that was Me would sit and listen
And wonder at the symphony
Of groaning
As the body parts start to fall away.
And if there\'s enough left,
After you\'ve had your fill,
Then I\'ll walk up timidly
and ask if there was any left for me?
Receptors firing panic
And the heart is jumping faster
As my bones fall apart inside
Like the walls made of plaster
Inside my two heads\' apartment
Complete with kitchen and a stove
Where the meters reading critical
As the chum bloodies the cove
An island of thoughts
Of where everyone\'s been
Where I\'m alone, afraid
With uncommitted sin
Shouldn\'t someone have noticed
As the years pass by?
Nobody notices
When inside you\'ve died.
And if there\'s none left,
After they\'ve had their fill,
Then why, Oh God why, can\'t I?