Fucked up

I wish that I could shut up

Should be in a lock up

Decay of mind and spirit

Not quite with it

 

I am the portal to insanity

For my mind is my only true reality

But my heart is almost free

 

So lay your head on my chest

And listen to the beat,

Beat, beat me

Into a pulp rhapsody

Of thoughts

Which broadcast from me

Like white noise from a turned off TV

 

Open your pocket

And place my heart within it

Like a time bomb of a watch

I shall tick against the skull of your belly

Until you tell me

That I have saved you

From sanity’s padded cell of luxury

And the concept of materiality

A poem in honour of world mental health day


A WRITER’S FALL

Climb the hill
Slowly
For honesty quickly
Falls
When spirits are
Low
Open doors close
No more I
Am
You never really
Were
Corporeality is blind
Illusion
Displaced by thought
Intrusion
And the deluded
Existence
Of physical laws
Like an ass
Seeking a brain
Transfusion
Marked with a
Cross embedded in
Its back, a
Holy autograph, yielding
Comforting nuzzles of
self-
Affirmation