Another Wasted Section Hyperventilates

As culture drips from the nervous system,
communication's derelict gestures
perform poetry behind the eyes;
a wide-open swirled coloured confusion -
sobriety's jaunt into language halts
as stutters of stoned expressions escape
the confines of fantasy to roam need,
and toes tap musical shivers through want
while the pen folds reality's paper-
thin flames into neat little squares of time.

Imagination spins structure across
the mind's super highways of broken thought,
personality collects style's earthquakes
then runs under dreams which untangle love,
cleanliness is next to nothing as verse
spills eternity's quiet retched notions.
I'm an opinion; distorted by my
own reflection's dishevelled quality,
forever strutting self-imagery's hate,
and persistent fingers grab the frayed strings
of sentences as bones crack arrangement,
bright lit spiritual mannerisms
consider stanzas while Hell taunts Heaven
with motivation's conventional signs,
perhaps a poem will be quickly birthed
or maybe another wasted section
shall hyperventilate and die in pain.