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Fix of the Intox.

Before you turn,
cartoon-run again, warping
space

from A to Z
in no time

so as to be free
of this, just be sure
why you do not instead
invest in running

the diametrically-opposing
way, into the comfort, security,
sense of personal empowerment
that may come in slavery
to the right authority.

Chasing the fixation
of the intoxicated:

the only
side of you relaxed, confident,
secure and hungry
for this kind of intensity.

Is it a state of utter
madness, insanity,
or could it be it meets
its polarity:

could this be crystalline
fucking clarity?

Might you be wise
to run through the desert,
falling to your knees

before her, begging
her to just kill
the lie
with your single
plea:

Just let me
be me.

Nothing less,
nothing more
can save me.

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