Hallucinations; delusions within method ripped from the cellar,
Porcelain displays taking you within the disease.
Medicate to silence hallucinations and lock the demons in their respective cages. Clawing ceaselessly and licking black lips, they whisper; begging to be set free; to run rampant-but you…you are a zombie—moaning and groaning and numb.
Friendship is paranoid and you wear the symptoms.
Darker. Darker. A silhouette, the health contributing a shake or two of what remains and man un-matched uses the flying situations implying excessive security.
Who are these psychological people? When did they begin to masterfully make decisions that would classify you as a refuge?
Frightened of yourselves, sharing it all only to share it all over again.
Looking to the church, waving to Jesus at the door as you pass on by; different associations and all of that jazz and as he holds and waves his messages in the air, the poor remember falling asleep in a dream within a dream; frozen and suspended in another time; a time that never forever was.
Manifestations of a mental chair, brought on the backs of men clothed in wonderment and fancy and nurturing a freeway habit.
Baby I am faster than your schizophrenia; holding her (no-yes-no)
Can you hear me in here?
Blowing gestures to men who help us hear.
Procedures of life decrease and rusted they die~
The therapy beating the hallucinations; stomping them out as they bleed on the concrete… but oh my God, what if they were supposed to live and I killed them? Were they a sign? Was it another plane of illusional reality?
Structured in my disorganized culture; talking dementia and exhibiting behaviors most would perceive as play with that little dolly that is me.
Why some suddenly are unwilling to come around; opinions strewn as mom’s old thundercloud situations: two for a dollar.
Impossible to remember reality, the severity of experience echoing through a wind body.
As the disorder grazed you you; I was the sky, caught up in and singing my fundamental songs.
Poor and losing to men who had a dollar; these relatives stealing power from my habit of balancing mornings to sleep to become us.
Innocence places truth from the in to another.
Disorganized and withdrawn, the other deals out to men in unkind days and months; our health blunted upon an apron of disorders.
You crawl from the window of diagnosis, stomping upon the cockroaches that you so lovingly named and fed and spoke to of what will never be.