Even Lunatics must break fast
The calm before the storm.
I break my fast musing over my odds of being crazier than the norm.
— Brain sensory overload — the cranium structure is deceiving in its form.
The third eye lazily flickers in a state of REM.
an attempt to channel my inner chakra.
I’ve resorted to stick-on Googly eyes to play the part of spiritualist guru, sipping on high tea, to awaken my inner rapture.
Dear Goddess Kali, can you save me from the howling winds?
The mooing cows spinning around me
moaning gutturally for their new fateful flight as fledgelings?
My Glasshouse shatters into a myriad of snow flaked, razor-sharp, jagged pieces.
unable to repair the damage.
Take a searing hot iron to my face to smooth out the grimace in my features.
Sacerdotal screams interrupt the night — another man stolen from his lullaby.
brazen in their efforts to destroy,
my favourite playlist titled: sweet dreams.
behind the thousands of words, I’ve ploughed through with oars
Where will I be?
Will I have sailed?
Will I capsize?
Will I have the ability to walk?
Will I be a cripple, dragging myself by the elbows under a storm pelted bleached , grainy beach?
The Temptations won’t knock
They will saunter in.
Oh, it’s to be expected.
I refuse to fall to my knees
swearing my allegiance to make another man’s family richer
Than see mine indicted.
I’d sooner sit on a floor, covered in colours of paint and corners lit with the smiles of my loves.
I’d sooner watch paint dry or read a screenplay loosely based on what I know about when life comes to rouse me with rough pushes or shoves.
Elements balance my kinetic,
complex feelings of despair.
Change comes with a promise.
Fear comes with very little solace.
Motion to a new position –
don’t cower from success
It might even suit your current attire and inner prowess.
My time to deliver.
Get my due.
For me and my few.
My kind words are still here and my support?
I have some to spare.
I won’t waste it on those who don’t reciprocate
The err is but their own.
Chosen to remain frozen-staring down a hall of, pale, mirrored self-reflection.
unable to see
they are not the only ones
in need of encouragement or care.
I swill down the remnants of this blessed day with a bitter tea.
I clamour to suppress my applause.
I catch out the dawn rising with a yawn unashamed ,gloriously
I’m no longer afraid to be the lunatic.
I’ve seen the powers of nature.
Forces of rage.
still, waters run deep.
This insanity is something I hold dear to me-
The great mother gave it to me-
I will set with the sun
It’s my duty to consummate all that is sacred.
Revised stream of consciousness — borderline poetry.
Posted on Sep 12, 2017, in EXPERIMENTAL WRITING and tagged Bipolar disorder, Emotions, EXPERIMENTAL WRITING, In Yer Face poetry, Living with Mental illness, Love, passion, POETRY, pride, self expression, self-awareness, self-belief, Stream of consciousness, stream of consciousness poetry, Transformation. Bookmark the permalink. 14 Comments.