Crit For Crit.

Life is not some puzzle,
tested with watch or sand.
The pieces never fit
when touched by motive's hand.
My fondest memories
involve the moon and drugs;
bottle of robotussin,
a battle with my brain.
An unknowing prayer
for cataclysmic change.
I've found and lost in minutes
some meaning to my life.
In the end left sticky,
tattered and undressed.
If for nothing else,
i forced imagination,
manipulated myself
from consciousness.
The secret I've learned
I learned by accident.
Faith is walking nowhere
with a splinter in your heel.
I think at some points you jumped ideas too suddenly (cataclysmic change/meaning in your life/tattered and undressed), and a couple lines flowed awkwardly into each other (drugs/bottle of robotussin/battle with brain).

but mostly I thought there were some interesting ideas presented here, and you showed a restraint in your writing that most don't bother with anymore -- trying to keep it somewhat metered, which is also probably why some of the line changes are either awkward or abrupt. they had to be so.

this was definitely a solid poem. glad to see you're still up and writing.
i would kind of agree with corey here as far as jumping from idea to idea rather suddenly at times, but then again, that approached remain pretty consistant throughout, so it really didn't bother me too much. a lot of the ideas presented here are pretty cool, and it is done in your usual style, which i have always admired. i think for what it is , it gets the point across, an dis a nice snip-bit of how we can all feel at times from day to day.