Thursday Night often blurs into Friday Morning .or. Segregated Meditations

Chugging black tea like it might cure a disease
Does nothing to clear up the confusion in my head
Why must the mind be vertically opposed to the heart
With no gearbox in between
So that both can find a common direction
And this dissonace can stop, not feel like an infection
So maybe there is a disease im trying to cure
With holistic medicine and a human spirt
Sometimes the body can no longer bear it
When such symbiotic parts run in opposite circles

Ironically

This parrallels my American symbiote
But one can see symphonies in a reflecting pool
with a proper imagination, and no respect for the laws of light
But ive always been a law breaker

Conclusion

Im torn in twain
Both havles racked with guilt
My only option seems to be the powder soul suicide
But thats only a vacation into the world of fight or flight
Temporary reprise

There is nothing decifered in these meditations