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
deeper down than skin
and more apparent to me than the teeth which smile.
Schizophrenic warping of the senses.
I hear with my bones,
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,
and then never let go,
so that I can stop seeing omens in milk-shakes,
and ghosts in other peoples faces all around me.