Sunspots

I don’t remember being like this before

before the crank

before the chiva

before then

You might call that brain damage

and you may as well be right

I like to call it a mind-dimple

on my lens, fun-house,

contorting the perspective

it is simple, really,

never trust a faulty narrator,

I crawl along in the dark of existence trying to not believe what my feelers are telling me,

that this cave goes on farther, than I will not live forever,

brain damage.

doubting the real inside from the surreal outside,

with just enough mental scars,

one can enjoy this world like a child on ritalin

frolicking, like madmen do,

smiling at the beauty

of the end of our world