malva’s graffitti

teeming
crystalline voices resonate
perceptual inferno
white noise in gray matter
my own psychic static
shrieking … skulking … shadows
i, hunter … i, hunted
caustic clatter digests my psyche
neuron by neuron
axon by axon
dendrite by dendrite

Technorati Tags: pysche, poetry, static, perceptual

hey broadcast using medium-length waves over the radio. they communicate with each other this way. yeah, they think i heaven’t figured them out. they must think that i don’t listen to the radio. oh shit, the voices. they’re singing Kumbaya again. hands over my ears, looking around the room, wild-eyed, for my headphones.

i can’t tell the difference between what my head says and what goes on around me. psycho, i’m fucking psycho again. my ears, they’re ringing with all the sounds of all those loud voices. running. shit. i gotta run. those people in the shadows, they’re trying to stabe me in the head.

‘ . . .drive a broom through your skull … rip out your entrails …” voices! no! those thoughts come from the voices. running. hands over ears. bent over. dodging them. running from them. slamming into walls. bouncing off the bright white walls. gnawing my fingers, exposing raw and putrid flesh and bone. raging. numbing. nothing.

panacea. syringe, loaded. who’s panacea? mine? not sure … i should run. but i have run enough. relief? demise?

Technorati Tags: psychosis, voices, poetry