Schizophrenia is a myriad of perspectives,
a chorus of opinions,
and downright slander.
Memes so utterly consuming,
it leaves no room for yourself.
You become nothing, you live in the nothing,
you crave nothing.
Your own opinion is drowned by the cacophony of voices,
that are pretending to be you.
Eventually comes a stage,
where stupor is more appealing,
than fighting something that exists
only to torment.
You lose all hope,
because there is none.
Yet something still stirs,
an anger, a rage so powerful.
Aloathing born of slavery,
imprisoned in your own mind,
for none to see.
You keep it secret,
for to explain,
would be to diminish.
The years of suffering,
the nights of doubt,
the mornings of hope drowned eternal.
Every word it speaks is fuel to the fire.
the loathing becomes a shield,
the rage keeps you sane enough to live in public.
Yet in private, a war brews,
it spills, it spits.
an hour of quiet,
a day almost.
it's always there,
at back of mind,
for all of time.
But if the guilt of insanity
becomes too much to bear
take solace in two simple words
For who would dare to say it's real
and risk the wrath of rage kept checked,
by a simple truth that whatwe hear is not real.
havoc would wreak,
revenge would sow,
for above all we respect our feathered bow of diagnosis.
Because without it,
all with have is unknown psychosis.
© Copyright 2016 Deltz. All rights reserved.
Poem / Memoir
Article / Memoir
Miscellaneous / True Confessions
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