How can we understand ourselves, if we don’t?
How can others understand us, if they don’t understand themselves?
We decieve ourselves in a divided mentality
What we believe so happens to be
Is not the objective reality
Our senses bend to perceive
The voices I hear, what do they want from me?
The floor rises and falls, it breathes
The walls crawl as they churn
Bugs crawl under my skin, pins and needle sensations burn
Judgment in tow complications
Splitting heads, cracked shell
Each one differentiating, cracks scattered into protective personalities
Sweeping up debris of the sensory world
Who am I?
Is fiction, reality?
Maybe poem’s are a kind of schizophrenia
Maybe these poems do not express thoughts and feelings
But a transfer of energy between poet and reader
These pills dulling the colours
Melting into a spectrum of greys
The price to pay
Just to be okay.