Messologist

I am a hopeful enthusiast by nature and a Messologist on paper.
I lose my mind a lot... Like twenty-four words before this dot.

Motivated by everything moving. Soon as the sun drops I raccoon and go thief in the night with no plausible purpose.  I go scheming side by fright, ignoring the plight-fear fawned fervent.  See my memory sucks. Not good head.  I'm a mess. Yes. So my bad memory sucking turns to  good head, like my English.  Let me explain you.  If I foster a fear or few they flail freely as fast as I can flash my lashes. 'Cause I forget they're there.  Unaware I fly back in flames, speak in public, bite spiders back and my heart flutters and sputters and I'm wild with wonder, like huh? "Oh, forgot that's what I was scared of." I'm a mess.

I'm a mess.  Got more goals than Judas and Brutus got foes. My dreams screen in threes like Kringle's Ho's. Gotta keep both of those close....  The steps I chose or path, rather, lather my swagger. Soaped up on hopes like dope, coked up and full of enthusiasm.  Hope-spazzing outbreaks like rashes break out in spots. Scratching the surface and multiplying nervous like surging  Gremlins drenched in water. When I feel this real, this tone becomes thrill and no benadryl can seal the will.  Walking around spot, spot, spotted up.  Flow rich with ease now like bot bot bottoms up. So now there's me: the hopeful enthusiast, with a ration of rashes and my hands transform to cymbals, I'm clapping and clashing.  Applauding the cause all before  I take one step forward. My futures fuming or is it steam?.  Breathe. In. Second hand smoke ills and contact drills. High and coughing, hungry and choking. Stuck in a rash, in a flash I got here, stuck. Feet set.  Way more steps then rights and lefts. I'm a mess.

I'm a mess. I confess, its less Fresh than jest. Me at my best is less rested than suggested. Moving three ways at once...triple-headed monster. Miles and miles on Tonka. Everything improper but I love it. Feel my best and most productive. Head spinning like dradles, rock and rolling like cradles and bagels. From dusk to dawn...spawn creativity, feverishly. Dawn to dusk, do what I must between the cubes and on the cusp of upper management. The head that leads after dawn is the "what I must." And he needs 3 alarms and Good Morning America, and 10 minutes before late as God knows what before he's up and rushed.  The head that leads at Dusk is the "what I want.". This channel prescribed by viral opportunism.  I think I cans turn to dos. Hobbies leave behind Hansel and Gretel type clues and I pick up the pieces like Hustleman on the gazoo.
Third head minds me past dusk and through. This head's up to its neck with desire. Through the wire we conspire how to feed this earnest flame. Play mind games with visions like Rock, Paper, Scissors.  Scissors: cut it down and remove the excess. Rock: building, constructing tunics of strength. Paper: reap and collect after the steps are addressed. All three heads bob and weave but this the one that I root for indeed.  Be just my rabbit's foot if thee were the one? approached by the Big Headed Queen in Alice in Wonderland, dealt with decapitation and forcing desires resignation. While less would be the sum, yet and still two heads are better than one. I'm a mess.

I'm a mess. Yes, and I am quite certain. A professional. It's credible that this method won't lead to sensible ends. But losing my mind got me this far and I contend with the best of men.
Hopeful enthusiast, Messologist till the end.