Posts Tagged ‘Madness’

I find my minds eye is clouded,
Marred by ocular madness,
By the squiggles,
Shapes appearing like a vinyl,
Little lines dancing about as couplets,
A disco in my vision,
A riot before me,
No colours,
Just monochrome,
They silently play tag with my focus,
Frolicking away before I can make them out,

I seem to have a million friends in my eyes,
Or is it my imagination?
Degeneration?
Insanity finally seizing control?

Sometimes sleep can be like visiting a menagerie,
A mad array of mental toys,
Dancing and cajoling and fighting,
I close my eyes,
Logic takes the exit door,
And the toybox opens,
An entire universe of prisms and colours emerge,
Faces and pyramids and music,
Skeletons dancing against my backlit skull,
All things blended into storylines that make no sense,
It feels good,
Unconsciousness is my minds best therapy,
The crazier the dreams,
The better the rest.

When you imagine an artist,
You do not see me,
You see a noble practitioner of the word,
Your Tolkiens and Pratchetts,
Not me,
Not this freak with a pen,

I’m no artist,
I’m a monster of art,
My process is more of a hunt,
Deranged savagery in each stroke,
Less the orchestration of an artistic vision,
And more the dismemberment of prose,

The words I scribble are the meat,
The meanings behind them are a bitter aftertaste,
A happy accident,
Rending phrase from stanza,
Mutilating rather than composing,
Poetry coming from a state of psychosis,

I’ve read the greats,
My fangs were cut on their work,
This creature is a deviation from their ways,
I write because I must,
Perhaps one day,
I’ll write this monster a happy ending.

There is tell of a fallen angel,
Feathers replaced with horns,
Some epitome of spite,
And of this we are taught to fear,
Lauded as some ultimate enemy,
But I say different,

The devil is an amateur,
Way out of his infernal depth,
Ultimate evil sits in coffee shops and sips lattes,
A creature as studious as it is destructive,
Whose ingenuity has moulded countless systems of abuse,
It chokes the land not in lies but toxic waste,

The devil should just retire,
Last I checked we wore serpent skins,
Extinction is just in a days work,
Even Lucifer ought fear the mailed fist of man,
Both in location and scale of evil,
Humanity is punching down.

I heard tell of a witch,
A maiden in this harvest season,
A lady in an obsidian regalia,
Where she walks the flock congregates,
A winged host of subjects,
Upon her word do they fly,
She walks paths lost to man,
She is the mother of ravens,
She is never alone,
She is nature,
She is death,
She carries the murder in her soul,

The Morrigan

I am not a glamourous man,
Not a Prince Charming,
More of a Grendel or Hyde,
Something akin to a blobfish in a shirt,
A weirdo,
An eccentric enemy of the state,

But when I place that crown upon my head,
That mad hatter headpiece,
Victorian fashion supreme,
I don’t care anymore,
I know that I’m finally me,
I’ll be able to grin,

With it comes the face paint,
A clown taking shape under its rim,
Madness coalescing with joy,
With this ensemble I can recover from normality,
But I fear it’d all be for naught,
If not for my top hat.

They tell me that I’m alright,
And I may well be,
But a cruel occasion has reared its head,
Joy seems to be held behind a veil,
I simply don’t feel it,
I’m not sad either,
Just hollow,

Pleasure is a memory,
One that feels like an echo,
One that I’m unsure really happened,
I do smile ear to ear,
But it’s just sketched on,
I have a painted smile,
From the palette of social expectation,

Sensations turned down like a volume control,
Hobbies become trials,
Food and drink taste like static,
Humans become boogeymen,
It’s a curious phenomenon,
Perhaps of a mind cracking,
Or a man broken by the world.

When the worlds teeth clamp too deep,
I retreat to my safe haven,
This fabric hovel,
Threads and strands as seedy as my form,
A veil against human elements,
It keeps me safe and secure,
A suit of tattered armour,
Acquired at the thrift store,

Clad in plum tabard,
I’m clear of any prying eyes,
Overzealous words,
And clasping hands,
It’s a simple thing,
To feel impervious,
But no force in this world can grant it,
Save for this haven of a textile.

I can’t keep that beeping out of my head,
That incessant crying,
The trilling of the heartbeat monitor,
Forced on when my heart was trod on,
Decibels striking my thoughts with scourges,
A result of things gone wrong,

That flatline,
Blades across eardrums,
But the bleeding has ceased,
Flesh is replaced with stone,
A warm soul is now calcified,
Heartache has given rise to blizzards,

I shed my person suit,
This is the demise of that former quintessence,
This war has made me cold,
Now it’s every man for himself,
Now let me embrace some chaos,
Now I embrace that beep.

I find myself shuffling through life,
Forced to play this card game again,
I’m exhausted,
I’m tapped out,
This game of life is using rules I don’t recognise,
Hands growing aches aplenty,
Card upon card ripped from my deck,
And I struggle to draw the vigour,

Life has all the cards,
Counting down in blacks and reds,
No kings and queens to be found,
Yet I still go digging for diamonds,
Beaten down by wicked clubs,
Only spades waiting for me at the end,
Hearts in my pupils as the lights fade,
No ace up these sleeves.