here is my mind,
in a nut shell,
sick as a man that don’t feel well.
lit up like a lantern, one that’s light is going
and one word, that’s the mind,
taken down by the ebbing, undertow
I stay afloat, with each lines i wrote,
on a pad to quote Nietzche that being sick aint easy
it takes some time to perfect, but sickness comes when you
let your body go, and let your mind take step.
but me, I know I got it, issues in my temple
but the mental president, the alarm clock resident
the sleepy eyed testament says i got one life to live
and me, I wonder where it went.
where i flow, with my mental abyss
you might not understand reading this
that the target is painted on my back
and it can’t be missed,
fell to the ground, like a feather
this cold glow over head,
fell asleep, forgot to measure
what cost is ahead… the cost of sanity
is a cost I will pay.
I want my mind to erase itself
like its a bad hand dealt, you say that my idle hands
that i can’t see the truth,
You want truth? im not an idiot OR a vagrant
I’m a wandering soul,
belonging far away from the planet.
Whered i wind up? Pulling CSRS for Granite.
but man I’d chase away this pain with a gin and tonic,
i would welcome your comments, but not on this,
cause my mind just up and vomits this stupid shit,
for you to slip on it.
But this is my mental,
this is my magazine,
this is my dream,
my underground scene
I’m the psychward celebrity, yeah they dealt with me,
used to write poetry with Doug Holder,
but he never knew me
used to take his class,
in the mellow format,
to read every book you can, even if its crap.
That what he said to me
and I still look back and laugh at it.
Cause I write alot of poetry
and still don’t read, and probably should… books are good,
But I can’t read cause this kids got me doing Heath, and I’m sick of that shit.
reading a verse or two go get it from the internet.
cause you know me by know, i’ve been reading so loud
that you woke up from the chair that your sitting in now.
and i know you want me to tell you all of my problems,
your not a therapist… your the cause of em.
sick is the mind, call it what you wish.
call it mental illness, or another piece of shit.
cause i never caused this to happen, the mental swelling
that keeps me yelling obscenities in my head
yeah you laugh at em, or react to em,
and hear nothing, but i still can,
each jagged thought that comes from my head
for the mental is too much to bargain with
this the undertow, you the mental abyss.
I’d slit a wrist, but i’m not a bitch.
i’ll man the storm, I’ll handle it.
that’s what i do when my mind comes unglued,
i wish i could compute like a mental PC
and say a bad thought, then go ahead
but i know mania is something that medicine deals with
Calling anyone in pain a goddamn derelict!
A lost cause with a Social Security check!
But me im a different case all together,
man the storm, make sense some where blue
life without happiness volumes one and two.
sense saves a life, chapter one through ten
lost my best friend over a stupid drawing,
I write Oddball Magazine!, yeah this is the editor,
i edit it and promote it, and write you all letters,
come and check out my staff,
do the math
theres no staff,
just an idiot with a dream
and no lungs to laugh.
and can’t go back now. this is my magazine
that your reading
cause i want to let you all know
if you feel like I’m feeling
then write something,
instead of wrist bleeding.
instead of breaking down at home…
write a poem,
by myself with people or not, i still feel alone
thats why i write, why do you do it?
got something to say go ahead and do it,
and here is the music,
and you are the melody,
i know its not just me. or maybe it is
so dont tell me you dig my shit,,
and write your own, and maybe I’ll publish it.
you don’t know till you submit.