Black-Lit Flame

I live a life based on blacking out and not knowing what I am doing.
Ever since I was young I knew it was worth improving
By providing an avenue for esteem revenue to funnel through.
Well now a days I still black out, minutes at a time,
Not listening to what's around me but absorbing it.
Speaking out loud in words that are rhythmic
And like arithmetic I manipulate certain characteristics
Of words like numbers to add a bass like thunder
To the base of what I hold myself underneath.
I write, sometimes out loud when I speak.
I love it, it spews and everything I think leaks
Into the air like gas waiting on a match for combustion.
Well right now.. I have found my junction
And it's function is the friction between my pen and the loose leaf,
To the ground and my feet,
And to the beat and what I think.
I'm inspired, and my black outs are required
In order for wild thoughts to come from miles away
And stay for awhile floating in my brain.
These blackouts keep me sane when they once kept me contained.
They no longer bring me pain and its now my black-lit flame.