Sometimes it’s all,
About loss of control,
I like when my mind,
Escapes from it’s cage,
And rushes head first,
Into hot melting shit.
Chaos breaks up,
And gives birth,
VA WARD #88: (mumbling quickly so no one will hear)
I’m safely dressed so I glow in the dark, and I’m driving while safely in park. And I sleep and I sleep, and I only wake up to not miss the latest dance craze: The Thorazine Shuffle is sweeping the floor. But it’s ok, it’s really alright, I came from a dream and I’ll return to a dream, and in the mean time I’ll just dream some more.
I told myself a bedtime story, where everything that appeared out there was really all in here, sunny-side up, and projected into my brain like a movie no one else sees. Everything I thought I heard was just vibrations in the air, entering my ears where in my head sounds were formed, then deformed like the things one would see, when things that are seen are too ugly to be seen, and no one should ever see that! They asked what I saw, pretending to care, but their words would blindly butt in, and with pill after pill, they would let me go home, if I heard what they said I should hear. (“Fuck man, another order from another asshole,” thinking but never out loud). These shrinks in white coats and ties ’round their necks, like nooses from Zeus’s abode. Blanket covered minds fresh from college, whipped and stripped of their souls, they wanted me to see what they saw. She saw see saws. Dr. Shadow’s big ego, his truth wasn’t true, and George Orwell would shit in his grave. (Play the game, soldier, play the game so we all can go home) … I was just a Corporate Hitman playing Army because the movies all lied. ”But now you gotta live with yourself. Need help with that? Call 1-8OO-FORGET … then hold.” But don’t, it’s just another one of their tricks.
They said that the Hobbits and dwarves, the spies and the creeps, were all just made up in my head; But I know what is real is what I feel when I’m feeling what’s real. Red freckled doctors and candy cane shrinks are waiting to put me away, unless I agree that what they all see is what everyone sees, and the only things really for real. So they took off my wings, killed my spirit and then, took my ability to levitate too. (I used to be able to fly, and I’m sorry I don’t mean to brag).
Faces with legs and claws like a crab are chasing me ’round the psyche ward. But if I take enough pills till I agree they’re not real, then they’ll let me back out on the street. And they recommend I believe in some Christ, or at least think that Santa is real. Melting my brain with their cures to forget…to forget… for get … fore-get … tick tock. Tick Tock. . . . . .
But I forgot to forget, or I faked it I guess, and I hope that they never find out, ’cause I’m cured and I’m no longer scared. So now I know that waffle irons aren’t just for wrinkled waffles. And pancakes are flapjacks, but black jack’s a game, unless you’re out of your mind.
I’m freezing to death,
But they insist with a threat,
That I’m really feeling quite warm.
So I want to make clear,
That I’m really not here,
And if I were,
I’d be just in your head…