A mind of two sortsĀ 

The impulse

A rapture 

A cold-hearted capture

The mind, so weak 

Its crumbling infrastructure 

What we hear is not what we know 

This is my mind, but I wouldn’t call it home 

Nor a prison 

Or a rapture 

Nor a cold-hearted capture

Oh what a jubilant parade 

A euphoric asylum 

My mind is a place where I’m constantly shining 

The hedonistic splurges 

Terbulant surges 

A delightful delerium 

Of creative momentum

My mind is split in two 

I could be in heaven 

Then hell 

 This my mind, take it as you will. 

Portrait of a painful memory

She painted her skin
with the brush of a knife
the fibres so sharp
it could end her life

She looked at her masterpiece
And sighed in a whim
The oozing crimson
Trickled down, past her shin

Then she glared at the lines
that the paintbrush had traced
She’s ashamed of her work
She’s ashamed she resisted
It’s a terrible mess
I told her, it won’t last forever
You’ll be free someday
I promised
She wept
Then she painted one last picture
And away
She swept