Everyone is Psychotic

I am the madwoman’s attic

My walls are lined with abandonment

And static

My Insides are wood and glass pain

 

Everyone is psychotic

Quixotic psychotropic drugs

Blight our lives

 

In the haze of our smoke substitutes

We choke on the ash

Of our fragrant decay

And smell of fear

And replacement nicotine milieu

 

Unclean in the rear of our heads

We rub the behinds of our scalps minds

Until they bleed plumes of rosebud red

 

The universe speaks with the voice of unreason

Sanity is so last season

But is positively appealing

To those who are psychotically unreal

And believe that existence is but a delusional idea

That we are all free to think, act

And feel

 

I am sanity’s self-lover

I masturbate undercover of logic’s single sheet of belief

 

Everyone is psychotic

Except me-

Who am too, too sane

To be real

Louise M. Hart (2017)