Pleasure Chemicals

I am fundamentally fucked up, perpetually premenstrual
Frying myself in bacon fat
Residual, asexual
Fidgeting with the things I've found, suspiciously ineffectual
Festering in my frigid room, a tipping point eventual,
Never getting the feather duster out to brush away the rigid gloom,
Indispensable.

My heart takes orders from other peoples' neurons,
Deceiving,
Pumping liquid love into a face I don't believe in
All valves open and bleeding all over my sleeve and 
those who don't know me are missing something new and blue 
and they will fuel me with nicotine, amphetamine, liquor (it's quicker!)
It's true, but you,
You can fuel me with your words.

I'll sprint a thousand springs, 
Laugh a thousand times on wings,
Craft a thousand-million useless pretty things
I'll spend hours scanning LED boxes
trying to find something new about oxytocin 
As if biology is the sole reason for my rotten mood

I am rolling, forlornly: "JUST FINE."
As sweet as jam and as aimless as jelly
Down a tediously shallow, red white and black, dizzying decline.