You must have chaos within you to give birth to a dancing star. —Friedrich Nietzsche

*Above: Cognitive overdrive. Or, in my world, Thursday.*

What do you know of a mind like mine—

split at the seams yet looking just fine?

A stained-glass skull whose colors skew,

gleaming at dawn, then fracturing through.



What would you do with a brain this wild—

keen as a blade, then lost like a child?

It sprints, it slips, it sparks, it stalls;

it punches the clock, then bounces off walls.



We move so fast that time turns slow,

hypersense swells—a riptide below;

sound rolls in waves, light drags like tar,

I drown in data with no guiding star.



Tics like flares ignite the core,

neurological shrapnel of my hidden war;

left means right and stop shouts go—

what compass guides when circuits blow?



Victories smear like prints on glass,

each triumph slips before it can last;

anguish hangs thick, a storm-born gale—

do I sit safe at dock or set full sail?



An engine starved of vital oil,

pistons scream in friction’s toil;

RPMs redline; the throttle revs high,

all this horsepower, but nowhere to fly.



One step forward, two steps slide;

cracks run deep—but so too does pride.

Still I rise and keep the fight,

lighting the torch tho’ sleepless night.



Every fracture tells what smooth can’t say:

gold-veined proofs of a fiercer way.

Kintsugi sings that wounds accrue,

yet every break makes something new.