You seriously write the best dark poetry I've ever read... or well, any poetry.. everything you write is beyond perfection.

I always love your word choices, they are just so unique and bizarre and always fit so nicely. It just flows off your tongue when you are reading it.

Hey, Andrea. I have not commented on one of your poems for a while...I apologize.

I chose to do this one, because the title drew me in. I love the brain, because it is like a complex machine that controls every part of our body - very interesting to me. It also has to take care of the thought that occur within our brain as well...

Typos: if by 'medevil,' you mean the word for the middle ages, then it would have to be changed to 'medieval' or 'mediaeval.' I know its weird - I thought that it would be spelled that way too, but it isn't. Odd...

This is a very interesting poem - I am still trying to make sense of it as I type this.

'Bizarre antics
twist and coil
like a medevil
trail of rigor mortis
thoughts-'

^ I love the word(s) 'rigor mortis' because that is usually used when talking about dead things, or dying things. It is the stiffness that occurs right about when someone dies, so I thought that was a very good descriptive word. I have never thought of thoughts as being stiff though...
I wonder if you are trying to say that bizarre behavior is occurring like an old trail of stiff thoughts? Or maybe it is like you are trying to say that bizarre behavior is happening because of the thoughts that will not leave your mind...maybe? Am I somewhere close here? I am probably butchering it...sorry.

'Migraine scars
rage a feverish
desire to be
at peace.'

^ I have never had a migraine before, and from the sound of it, I don't really wish to either. I have heard that they are the most painful things on this earth, so I am quite scared to get them.
I like how you talk about the scars and not the migraine itself - scars are usually there due to a trauma that occurred, and saying that there is more than one means that you have dealt with this pain multiple times. I can imagine that you are trying to say that even though the true pain is gone, that it is still there burning dully. It happens - like a bruise. Even though it doesn't hurt right off, it hurts when someone still touches it. Or a burn.

'I have become
a scattered catacomb
of blistering flesh..'

^ You have wonderful imagery throughout this whole poem, so I love it. It is like you are boiling inside from all the pain that you feel? Or at least the pain that is in your head is making you wanting to explode because you can't really get rid of it...

The last line is a beautiful one, because it tells me that you want help or at least that the reader wants help.

I hope that I did not butcher this too badly. I am only the reader, and you are the poet so only you know what the true meaning of this poem was. Most of us have been through stuff like this before, so it is all the more appealing. I again apologize for not commenting...I plan on being more active.

Excellent
5/5

Another really deep peice of what seems to me like desperation for release of what is inside of you?

Your wording in here is amazing, every word is such a powerful one that it links them all together perfectly and... well sooks the reader in like a hoover!

Well done. x