02:05:24 [poems of a schizophrenic jailbird]

7

'String.'
At night I dream of death,
walking on a thread,
on the fabric of life,
tumbling, falling dead.

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A pin-pricked sobriety
awakens an essent forgery,
my parady of realism
a mask alone for me to wear.

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I space cadet fish bowl head,
all's forgotten? but nothing's said.
enept even for my own paradox,
now perhaps I'll fit the box.A past elapsed, circles round,
tattered defence, the incessant sound,
echos of another place, as I dream solace
I search but it is not lifes splitting seem?

..