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When my doctor diagnosed me as a schizophrenic,
My mother broke into tears, like it was worse thing anyone
Could be, I wanted to tell her to stop, it was starting to feel
Too unreal, I have been living in this mind for so long,
That I have turned against this world, which
Looks at me like I’m a burden to carry, I talk to air
Sometimes, it’s not insanity, not everything you can’t see is
Insanity, I sometimes see my grandmother, and I tell her
I miss her that I’m sorry I wasn’t there when she counted
Her last breath, you might feel it to be weird, but it’s not worse
Than this guilt gnawing at me, my mind is a canvas painted
By thousands of painters, and the pictures here don’t make sense,
But art doesn’t need to make sense.
I feel like a graveyard sometimes, haunted by the souls
That will never leave me, I feel like a morgue sometimes,
Walking around with my own corpse, that bleeds sometimes,
I am not abnormal or special or weird,
I see constellation in people, and I see a ray in you
When you smile, my hand stutters objecting to human
Touch, and I don’t call out for hugs, but this body could use some
Warmth, my imagination doesn’t run ahead, it goes round
And round,
Living in this body, is like inhabiting with a foe,
Which slowly takes over you, and you have no shield,
These meds help you sleep dreamless at night, but
They won’t protect you, nothing will be here to
Clutch on when demons that resides in you arrive,
So all you do is crawl on your bed, trying to take
As less space as possible, not letting the fear
Cover every part of you, you think you’re still here,
But you’re not, and thats exactly how it feels like
Living in a schizophrenic mind.
 Jul 2015 Melissa Sherwood
DD
Wonder
 Jul 2015 Melissa Sherwood
DD
What reason it is found,
In a soul that is bound,
To the simple way of acting
After feelings are reacting?

All of them, and many more
All of them, forever lost,
To the simple way of feeling,
That love always keeps on thinking.

They sink, drown, and down forget,
About what it was once said,
That the eyes filled all with love,
They're all blind, still filled with trust.

So they gain, while getting lost,
When it's gone, they see the world,
How it's shown, without the love,
Dull and empty, filled with lust.

After all, which matters most?
Love or reason, never both,
Freedom, or just being lost?
I'll forever wonder off...
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