sometimes I wonder what if I just give up and plunder, gotta keep on running or I'll get struck by the thunder, sometimes my anger wins and so does frustration, trying to fight them off but it's a sticky situation, I'm breaking things I'm breaking me I can't even hear my mind, therapy won't help other then just place me in a line, I ain't no psycho but y'all still give me the label, hearing voices in my head but yet I'm surely stable, knocking on the wall or is it just the door, looking at my knuckles  while there banging on the floor, I used to think I was crazy and that there wasn't no cure, bloody knuckles  red hands into God made me pure  I used to think what if they lock me in a home and forget that I'm living, laughing my pain away do they think that I'm kidding, thinking how do you cry when tears don't occur, how do you see when your visions just blur, but now I got God ain't no saying that I'm crazy, am I crazy for the lord well just maybe,


Leave a Reply

Your email address will not be published. Required fields are marked *

Related entries

The Book is Being Written

How we observe and how we reflect.

The Dreary Faceless

The observations and reflections of a traveller in a foreign land.

The Model House

The facades of a perfect home.

The Woman Who

This peom is about a woman in my life, who is suppose to be there for me but is not.


Dreams, desires, id and ego.