One night
I spoke out of bed
To clear my head
Something is ill advised to anyone
Under 14
Should do
From the night mares
As i walk i hear
Crying loud moans
I look into my
Bahai/muslim neighbor
Torture her children
To death because they
Choose peace instead of jihad
From then on I saw them
Playing in the street
In the middle of the night
White as the ghosts
They are
As if pleading to me
To help their story
Well here it is

As i walk into
My brothers place
I am instantly
Hits me with gruesome
Engery,  emotions
And madness
And as I sleep
That night
I hear the moan of
The call to prayer at
The witching hour
Not at morning
When i wake up
I find that his house
Was haunted
By a madman
A madman who convert to Islam
A madman who killed himself and his family

One day,
I thought about you.
The next day,
I iust can't stop.
The day after that,
you haunt my dreams.
A week later,
My are around your lifeless body.
A week after that,
I found a new one,
And turned you to ashes.

It's always the bat-****, rabid dog
crazy ones that will put up a really
good front when you first meet them.
You're always amazed at how normal they appear.
They are intelligent, hold down jobs, drive Volvo's;
maybe they even have children that they
seem to take care of.  They pay bills,
celebrate holidays and have houseplants.
They might even have a
dog or a cat, or a sickly looking bird in a cage.
But, just underneath the false facade of
lucid smiles, lurks a whack-job from hell.
They make Sybil and Lizzie Borden look
like Mother Theresa.

If you find yourself with one of these
women, don't confront them, it only
makes matters worse, and could prove deadly.
Just smile and nod, and slowly back out
the door.  Don't stop until you see the
Pacific Ocean.  Get in and wash yourself off.
Your safer with the sharks and the riptide.

Secrets of Wysteria flow in the vessels of my brain
And so I do not hear, nor comprehend the calling of my thought’s train
Vowing to never be held again in constrain
Eradicating the rotten fingers pointing to my disdain

Muses of bruises, callouses, and roses
Excuses the clueless, hung in ruin’s nooses

Flagitious tongue sharpens itself with sprawling centipedes
Rusted teeth from perilous mandibles bleed as it feeds
On the oozing, ****** veins of the wicked ****** as it pleads
Maybe these are too much for one’s avaricious needs?

Mindful, careful, piercing the syringe of refrain on plump flesh
Yeuking as the substance flows on blood so raw and fresh

Amid all, the past and future gather in Sheol’s pavilion
But missing is the presence of present in emblazing vermillion
Yet fleetly missed as the siren descanted her composition
Somber statues of ivory pretense witness with volition
Saints and snakes tear each other’s throats in a languish cotillion.

I grabbed the earth,
The muck and the dirt,
To hold me close,
My heart and mind were hurt,

I grabbed the earth,
I was hoping she would grab me too,
I was free falling into psychosis,
What’s a psychotic mind to do?

I grabbed the earth,
She held me close,
She told me to scream at the top of my lungs,
I screamed so loud the universe found me,

I grabbed the earth,
She held me tight,
Don’t let go she whispered,
Everything was going to be alright.

I grabbed the earth,
Dirt and grit under my nails,
I didn’t let go until it passed,
Psychosis never lasts.

I let go of the earth,
I stood slowly to get my bearings,
The earth had saved me,
The universe and it’s wings.

This ****’s been going on,
for far too long.
It took me talking to him,
to know something was wrong.

It started as a whisper,
so quiet and weak.
I could force it to silence,
without having to speak.

Then my mind and body,
started to waste.
He started to gorge,
and fell in love with the taste.

My slow decline,
was the foothold he needed,
and his tendrils grew,
where I didn’t know they were seeded.

His control grew bigger,
till it shadowed my mind,
and the whiskey fog I was in,
had simply turned me blind.

Then one day I was through,
enough was enough.
I was going to take control,
I had to be tough.

That was the first time,
that he spoke to me,
and that “no” was enough,
to finally make me see.

I tried and I tried,
again and again,
crying through his laughter,
trying to pour him out through a pen.

He was poison,
like a cancer you see.
He was killing us both,
but everyone just blamed me.

Then one day I realized,
I couldn’t get rid of that voice.
To do that meant death,
and that wasn’t a choice.

He’s a part of me,
but disconnected too.
A bystander to the hell,
that he’s putting me through.

Now every day is a struggle,
to quiet his voice.
Trying to convince myself,
that I do have a choice.

So he’s here to stay,
the monkey on my back.
The ominous stranger,
who calls himself, Jack.