The dilemma.
The Internment.
The freedom.
Freedom? Which?
Because the more you try to keep your physical freedom,
the more you are close to loose the freedom in your mind,
little by little.
I’m drowning without water.
Into my own voice.

"Sonorous Voice"

Is what it's called by my shrink, which, according to her, its completely normal in the human being.

Is it normal that your own mind tries to sabotage you?

Its called Borderline, baby.

That is why you are able to write such beautiful poems;

to love so profoundly,

or defend your posture and your ideals before a judge.

But when you are alone,
by yourself,
there is no one to argue with, but your own silent voice.

And that’s when the verbiage comes.

And the dilemma,

should I intern my self in the mad house, so I can get my right meds?

Or should I just keep writing until the madness goes away?

In the mean time,
I will keep making love to life,
like if there was no tomorrow…