My little blue pill

If I could fight this
I could fight a lion

Crawl through collapsed caves
Methane filled air cannot force me into a hypoxic state.

I can morph into Saturn
held together by toxic gas
Elements as dense and massive as a thousand earths.

I could survive there
I lose myself with no fear
and the little blue pill becomes my body.

I've consumed as much as my weight
How could I make it so far
eating the earth until there is no earth left
than what I once absorbed on the day of my conception.

I could eat my demons with my little blue pill
Touch the sun as if it could not take the life it gave me.

If I could fight this
I could dream of eternity
frozen in liquid nitrogen
for a thousand generations, and wake to find mortality
had become a silent joke amongst children
who point at me like a freak of nature,
A primitive product of the industrial age
when ten fingers kept food on the table,
when our teeth rotted and our hearts filled with plaque.

Cells mutated into masses alien to the body,
Preyed upon the gene, the synapse, the dendrite, the frontal lobe
without nanochips recording every flex of my bicep
all my hidden fury.
Every held back tear that got lost during 500 years of sleep
when she rested in the ground until she was boneless.

If I could fight this, her life would not have been wasted
on minds that have decayed its memories
either lost forever or making a journey back to the center of the universe,
our genesis,
the birthplace of immortals
and rags stained of spilt wine and blood that could not
divert itself from the severed veins in my wrists.
The worst of it escaping as if I could free part of myself from all of this.

But which is it that poisons me.
My diseased DNA that clings to the red cells
or the mind defective,
victimized by the oxygen that keeps the pain
circulating through the neural maze
that finds its way to the amygdala,
the subconscious demons that lurk about like they are the guards of San Quentin.

If I could fight this
they may find themselves unemployed,
homeless,
hoping to become the common cold,
Thumbing it on a silent highway,
praying for a child to embrace it,
because it disguises itself as a harmless old man,
or a lover,
a mother.

If I could fight this
I could swing to the other side of the galaxy
through an Einstein Rosen Bridge.
It works like a park ride
Duplicity is the key.

One must find his twin
Which is easy now by cloning

Pasts and futures are vulnerable in the wormhole
This is where changes are made,
where my little blue pill is no longer necessary.

If I could fight this madness,
I could have used this strength to roll back time
There my demons are excersised
But there I had yet to meet her.

If I could fight this
I could lose everything
My home
The palace of my dreams.

So, I had it in my head for a while that drugs could help with the creative process, but what I realized after I had my first and hopefully only arrest, that having a clear mind is the best way to write. And when I say clear, I mean a fluidity of thoughts that have a range across the entire spectrum of emotions. The human mind, unfettered is a miraculous machine capable of bringing us into places that seem outside the realm of space time. If you want to traverse the distances that make the universe seem impossible to explore, than begin the journey inward and you will find yourself in places you can't imagine, or can, you just didn't know it until now. When I get out of this state full of unhealthy triggers I'm getting back into some writing workshops. They are wonderful places to express yourself and to harness the power of human consciousness. If you love writing I recommend it.