Monday, June 15, 2015

The sanitarium compositions #1

This and some posts to follow are poems, fragments, and other assorted bullshit that I wrote in my most recent incarceration in the asylum. Here's to never going back.




A dropper of crimson watercolor sits
Beside an empty chalice
And a blank canvas
Such disservice!

But nothing expressed
Means nothing
To lose, and
Nothing missed.

The reality is different
Verses pass my lips
Like shards of glass
But crowds hold their roses

A release in defeat
An expressive sigh
Try again
Set me free

My scythe of words
Cuts deeply enough
To spill soul
Onto floor

A plague of metaphors,
Uncertain meanings,
Absurd ideas
I know them well

Born alone
Amongst the billions
Die unknown
Forever unheard


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