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27 July 2013

Mental

Clown

I made a cunt of myself      for no real reason    that spike through my heart    the faulty adrenal gland       sending acidic transmissions      through my mind and body    I could tear my skin off, fuck!


I spiralled on terrible trajectories     Like that moth in the bathroom     on its fatal last flight     an elongated spasm racked    and viciously surged

the reckless head load of poison      acrid in my mouth     my words have cancer     cutting words, killing words     no balance attenuated      no reason attempted     all passive strategy      lies in wait for the unwary       then pounces ferocious    Into the maelstrom, fuck you!  fuck you!      and fuck you too   


I’ll smash your face in       eat your entrails for breakfast     tear the stars from their sockets and grind them to dust    don’t come home       I started a fight      and  damaged my being      with psychotic clubs
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2 comments:

  1. Wow! You know, we hear the word bipolar and we think we understand. I didn't; I wasn't even close. This is an incredible piece of prose poetry that makes the reader feel, truly feel, what it might be like.

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    1. I try to convey the emotions - they can be overwhelming - but I try. I'm glad you appreciate my meagre efforts - painting with emotions is like knitting with water.

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