My Wernicke’s area can’t comprehend a thing you are saying

Sorry that my frontal lobe has been scrambled by your ice-pick lobotomy called excuses

You are throwing me off balance

Crushing my cerebellum under the weight of the lies that my occipital lobe has seen

My pons are ecstatic, erratic

I can’t sleep because my heart won’t beat

You are clenching my medulla

Giving me this pain that I feel in my midbrain

My ears refuse to hear your temporal litany

My spine is against the wall

My head against the walls of parietal confusion

I can’t move a muscle

I can only sit and meditate on the words I sense pound upon me

My hypothalamus shuts down because it wants no more

My hippocampus closes its door and represses those feelings inside

Shoves my thalamus to the side

I want my corpus callosum to be rid of me

For I cannot connect what I hear and what I see

A victim of anguish and hypocrisy