Had my medication for breakfast
Sit listening to Ludwig, puff out his chest a bit,
And I am trying to listen intently
With little resent
Am I dying? I breathe in a cold calm,
My hands shake,
But I know I belong
Typing relentlessly at the keys,
Trying to understand madness.
A Scientist in the daytime, and bad at business
He falls quicker then the signs that we all have gone
To the wilderness.
That the simply joy he once had,
Has gone by with love and tenderness.
And the out of this mind poet,
Has had his medicine for breakfast.
Wish I had the exorcist
To release my demons,
To give me a calm breath,
And pray for Jesus.
Wish I could understand death.
Life. Sinners and saints.
How the body works, the world of hate
Of how my mind, once was a drum
I banged so silently,
Now rock it to the sounds of Simpsons and Coffee.
My mind has turned back in time,
Airing out all my dirty laundry.
And I become Ludwig playing blindly.
Why are my hands so cold?
Suicide is an urban myth.
One that comes truer in a world like this.
Jason Wright is the founder and Editor of Oddball Magazine. His column appears weekly.
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