F.T.Willz poems (prolly frank iero no one knows)

:-:

(can't find title sorry)

medical research says that the surface of the brain can't feel pain, yet it's ironic that it's the organ that tells a person that they're in pain. pull of the scalp, crack open up the skull, that's the part that will hurt. but take a blunt metal instrument and poke at the convoluted, rose colored expanse of tissue beneath it, and nothing. maybe it makes sense that the emotions felt by that brain would seem empty and numbed, distant, like looking at the world through a used up tube of toilet paper. everything around the cardboard is black, there's nothing beyond what can be seen through the circular opening at the end. tunnel vision. inside the human brain is the beginning and the end of everything. the entire fucking world could only exist in the mind, to think abstractly. maybe everyone here is dreaming, lost in a swirling, complex, multi-layered shitemare of a monstrosity that not even the most twisted god could imagine. or it could be like this little internet fable that often pops up: in the last seven minutes of your life, everything flashes past in a technicolor vomit stream of "jesus fuckin christ is this my existence," and you can have the chance to finally figure out wether or not you've been happy with it. that's what this life might be. but right now, it's just a cloudy miserable blur of headaches and Advil, sullen disillusionment and the need to feel feelings again. only the cold cutting sway of the breeze and solitary confinement with the spinning wheels seems to help. right now, there ain't much to anything. anything at all.

-F.T.WillZ-must-die (may 11)
(oR Frank iero in 2013😐)