I’m pressing, pushing paranoia
away
as I lie in my ocean of bed.
And I lie (in my ocean of bed) when I
say
“I’m a warrior.”
I’m a worrier, a bundle of contradictions,
a language-lover who will never be able to speak my mind, my
split + mind.
(****** + phrenia)

Sentences slip through like a sea through a sieve.
Language was not invented or
intended for
my babbling brain, bursting
with deathly images,
lacking in logic.
Pressing, pushing paranoia knocks on my mind’s door,

I’m away.