An iridescent glow
A whisper from the dead
Longing to be heard
Distant screams
Cold breath grazing my neck
The agonizing shrieks grow louder
Howling winds
Rustling leaves
Something is behind me
Something is following me
Lurking in the night
The noise is deafening
It's overwhelming
Overstimulating
"I can't do this"
And then suddenly
It is calm
Quiet
Peaceful
And all that I am left with
Is crippling paranoia

Thoughts race in circles,
shadows hide in every corner.
Who’s there?
Can I trust?
In this quiet,
paranoia whispers,
filling the air.

Delusion One among many Like others
Why so different Why special
My pain changes twists and deforms
makes the World unto Itself
Fire with Fire Duel one must Choose one must
My soul changes twists and deforms
makes the World unto Itself
Deform the Cube into a Circle Into a Ball Into the Earth
Giving Essence and Resemblance Back Pain is gone
Soul no longer needed World returns to World

Channel 2

Nightly News

Who even knows anymore?


The clink of dishes


Disarray


Discussions a-bout dynamite


Likely to tear my hair out


It's fair to say I'd scare


my younger self


Wouldn't recognize,


or even know how to reply


to the sight of things


Paranoia creepin' in


Might have to do with,


all that research I been readin'


Either tricks are being played


Or something is amiss
in the way you treat me...

Beached craft
Begging a current...
When the sun shines, does water laugh?
Dependency is the joke, to never relent...

Oil, has forgotten the cares of us...?
Slippery and truthful
Teeth are sincerity's weapon, poised to hush?
A saving ask, of when the truth is same's goal...

Justice for a tear?
Simple chaste, to entail charisma
Form and function, with pity's honor?
Sake promised, a fate before silence and sanity...

A ****** eye, with a stark devotion...
Paired to consume
The deeds of actual shares, a time for notions
That played their part, to a divine doom?

When is water, a living miracle?
When it feeds you...
Spare shadows and hunger, and means to lend a will...
Avid to terror's dream, who else sniff's glue?

River accepts; reasons and done...
Sweet exception, in the needs we fare
Are the told, the toiling west of money?
Taken for sincerer times, the opus of care?

Think allure...
Is a wealthy shoe, the only way to dance?
And to imagination in the same, a rolling curiosity
With the times of decency, hopefully avidity's moments...

Think composure...
So waited, if not weighted to advance
The notion of simplicity, as a spare continue, of open worth
Order and chaos, with misogyny as arduous a stance?

Think despondency...
Letting worth, keep the better of common assumption
A halt of silence, in the name of rendering immediacy
A stoic habit, of a quiet question:

Thank dependency...?
Reality to venture forth, with seldom's catch
I am the patience of virtue, the vote of leniency?
Like appetites of justice, in the our of stirring cope, I have seen silence's legend...

I can't stand myself. I'm scared that if I let myself think, I'll spiral so far down that I'll never come back up for air. I don't want to be crazy. I don't. I don't want visions from God. I don't want to see the cameras, check the locked door six more times, shake when the tires veer too close to the curb. I don't want to scream every time I see my reflection blink. I don't want to see my reflection blink. How do I convince myself that I still have time to build a life worth living when I lose myself every day in my delusions? Will I one day stop returning to reality? Will I still have time to build a life worth living if I don't? Do I live in the rot, let it consume me and wait to forget, or do I make something of myself, just to lose it the next time I have an episode? I lose hours talking to myself. I lose myself in the hours in between. And I'm terrified to lose everything. I religiously keep receipts and old packaging, mementos of every average Tuesday evening, because what if what if what if? What if I reach thirty and do not remember being twenty two? What if this is all I have to remember that I had a life before I lost it? What if I don't reach thirty and this collection of memories is the only thing left of me? Does a person's potential die when their mind begins to lie, or when they begin to believe it? I don't know if I have psychotic episodes anymore. It's more like episodes of lucidity to break up my average day of hiding from the NSA or my landlord or my neighbor or the ghosts or the devil or God or my mother or myself. Will I ever be a real person? If I build a life worth living, will I have my mind long enough to settle into it? I look to the future and there's a fog I can't quite see through. I'm afraid when I get there, that the past will look the same.