Schizophrenic

The world outside my eyes knocks

against my mind, tap tap tap,

asking for an invitation in.

I try to stop seeing movies all around me

but the street outside is cloaked with a

pale green filter and

all the people wear clothes like costumes,

faces like masks covering up

what’s underneath,

what’s inside-

deeper down than skin

and more apparent to me than the teeth which smile.

Schizophrenic warping of the senses.

I hear with my bones,

I see

with my spleen;

screams of fury emanate from the puddles

beneath my feet as I step into them and

a baby starts crying ahead of me as

a black cat crosses

my path with a crafty point of its tail.

The babies mother starts screeching as well-

they both cry out like banshees

and I cannot help

the deep throat cackle which starts to build

like a volcano beginning to erupt;

I feel molten larva pour down this

pedestrianised street outside of me,

melting everything it path,

turning all to burning magma.

I try to hold it all in,

all in my mind,

all in my minds eye;

but I am distracted by the smell of smouldering wreckage.

I don’t know how

to accept this worlds hopeful

request for a greeting,

I don’t know how to accept.

If it is to come in

it must break down the door to my mind,

charge the gate,

decapitate the gate-keeper and then

capture my chain of thought,

take my point of view hostage,

take hold

and then never let go,

so that I can stop seeing omens in milk-shakes,

and ghosts in other peoples faces all around me.

 

 

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