schizophrenia is back.
I talk to the creature sat at the end of my bed,
He takes his hands and places them on my head,
I cry into his palms,
He is humble,
He is kind,
The only vision that has been in the whole of my life.
I tell him my troubles,
He whispers and tells me to keep being sane.
I tell him I lost my mind a long time ago,
"Oh my dear, no. You are the one who's sane amoung a world that is crazy. Take this your gift and let your life flow."
He tucks me into bed,
Wipes my eyes,
Tells me to never believe anyone's lies,
He leaves me now,
I close my eyes,
And drift away.
After a lifetime of "my gift" giving me grief,
Pain, despair, and broken belief,
The creature he showed me,
That not all is bad,
There is hope still,
maybe I'm really not mad.