I talk out loud, when I walk,
The crazy hand gestures to explain to someone what I mean,
Only that someone is me.
Could I be delusional?
I am scared, when little children come rushing from nowhere,
I practice my angry stare,
That’s probably paranoia,
I don’t hear people, they are noise,
I only see the wind and how far it can take me…
From the real world I run,
To my fictional one,
Create half truths out of lies,
And hide behind their lives,
The characters are free, unlike me,
They may flow from my pen,
But they go where they like,
I am not that liberated,
My enemy is my mind,
It takes me places,
Where fallacies come alive,
It steals my peace, my hunger, my thirst,
It chatters like a magpie,
Oh, God, there are times I swear, it forgets to breathe,
I walk fast and it walks faster than me,
I sit still and there are a thousand ants biting my feet,
The tremors run down my spine,
Up, flows the blood.
The mind isn’t survival, its pure cunning,
In wanting to be my friend,
It coaxes me to fly,
Fly from the window and never to return.
So many books on peace,
I have devoured
And it laughs,
Your books and your writing is a façade,
You can never beat me,
I am stronger than you are,
I embrace myself,
You don’t stand a chance,
I think, you sink…
My mind is out to get me and that’s the crazy truth.