Prefrontal Cortex

When you asked for truth
life backhanded you
with the taste
of detachment.

Forever to remain
the observer,
a child running home
after a morning
of integers.

Reality,
so very fragile
and dependent
upon the perspective
it is viewed from.

They taught you
that suicide
was an art form;
passion plays
were reserved for
those deemed
truly gifted.

Too much, far too much!

Some days, even now,
the best you can hope for
is to bite the back of your own hand
to keep from screaming.