flush the toilet now back on the brink,
prepared to self-destruct,
chemical imbalance contagious
with spiritual malice,
give thanks my soul isn't lost like Alice,
wondering around the land
controlled by the queen's card dance;
sick with the led
overdosing sheets with tons of words read,
thousands of letters written so rapid people
swear I was born gifted;
my contagion so graphic pixels scared to draft it;
scribing for years earning stripes and tatted tears,
over came fabricated fears,
read a few books,
meditated and physically disappeared;
re-emerged from the depths of 3rd heaven;
Ill with the feather-tip,
written in blood,
spitting from my heart
depicting positive thoughts
folks regurgitate what's taught;
reciting what I wrote,
every line a note-able quote...