The Whirlpool Galaxy

Mirrors in my mind reflect images of psychopathy

The code isn’t optimal but, rather, sophisticated

I dwell on the progression of entropy

Why did time fly by exponentially my dear?

It should have stopped for my soul sometimes

Shouldn’t it?

Maybe, Time is an imaginary number

Like Oxytocin

Played by the mind

In the psychological fantasies of mankind

Everyone pleads guilty

Yet, no one is

Ironically, I am guilty

Of not believing I could escape my body

I’m bounded by the fabric of spacetime, love

I can’t knock books off of your library anymore

My hands said enough

I accepted my fate

Neurochemistry was never on my side

She is a heartless monster

One that i know very well

Yet, weirdly …

She doesn’t scare me

I embrace this genre of existence

For it is the only route to gorgeous simplicity

Upon which rests immaculate beauty

The contradictions are always art

Just like photons in deep space

A candle in the dark beats subjective feelings

But why is no one on the side of darkness?

Is it because light Illuminates their thoughts?

But, few seem illuminated!!!

I look within, all i see are spirales of prime numbers

They ressemble Messier 51

The pain is there, but so is the art

The vastness is unfathomable and frustrating

To know is indeed a disease

Ironically, I am a doctor

Oh dear, only if i knew how to cure myself from that breeze