Schizophrenia

 

I'm torn in two directions. Rows of pink

and ribboned blue-eyed dolls embrace the light

that fades away to blackened walls of ink

and urine-sweetened corners that incite

my gasping cries. I hear bravado strains

of disaccord, as if a demon's hymn

were desecrating shadowy terrains

with strident taunts of fleeing seraphim.

 

And now I'm balanced on a churning wave

with grinning dolls upon a tranquil shore

and bloodied bluish bodies in a grave

of murky sea where whitecap tombstones pour

their brackish spray on open wounds -- the bane

of souls who seek contentedness in vain.