An Examination Of The Psychology Of My Unconsciousness Poem by Alison Rosalie

the silence isn’t settling
and in the still of nighttime;
between the moonshine’s empty
parentheses i wake to
rose gardens loud as orchestras
where bees hum louder than the birds’
beaks blaring like trumpets and the
whirring of the wind’s flute muffles
the voices of strangers i can’t see;

i read in a book,
strangers are only a figment
of the overlooked mind.
so is it with friends,
and enemies alike.
it told me
the only enemy
is inside my head.

when i fall asleep to sweet sounds
to find myself immersed
in nonsensical scenes where i am the
only one (always alone) in a school
full of strangers who stare, puzzled,
i am always entranced by the
strangest songs – keyboards
clacking and telephones calling
like a little office in my brain.
and i wonder why is it voiceless?
do tiny hands type on those unseen
keys and do the employees toiling
ever get sick of operating my altering mind?