At the stroke of my pen,
As I live and scribe.
It will be as if midnight
Has stricken me in a dream.
Wavy lines I now compose.
I shall ģrasp my nib as though
To scratch out my eyes.
I have thought recently
It may be better,
To have no further use for vision.
Vision, I have cometo believe,
Dulls the senses,
It stupifies the mind.
And as I now seek
To be in touch with everything,
Psychosis begins to tighten the binding,
And my cranium creaks for a little while.
So now I plunge, safety net at the ready,
Into my new adventure.
I have a consistent ear to the ground,
More out of necessity than design.
The noise too, helps paint a picture.
I blink my minds eye, at will.
And the nose trumpets the new horizon
As I tap into my mindset.
I am making headway, with my head.
There is room next to me for a companion.
Alas, not one steps forward.
Self inflicted injury it would seem,
Still carrys with it a significant stigma.
Tomorrow I might venture to the pound
To decern which canine, if any,
Will see fit to choose me.
In truth, at tomorrows dawn
I shall again see in, a new light,
And pondering the morning sights
Set my gaze at what the day will bring.
© 2019 Christopher Thompson
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