Diaries Of A Schizophrenic Narcissist Poem by Danny The Dreamer Boyd

I write what I feel it must depart:
The darkest, bloodiest bottom of my heart.
My heart is full and apart from peace,
And words are the only way of decrease.

I speak of love and swear at hate;
I blame myself and sometimes fate.
I cry of hurt and plea for dreams:
As in my dreams often darkness beams.

I bleed like you, and do scar too;
Yet try my best not to seem blue.
I fake a smile, and nod at times:
'Look how he everything sublimes! '

I wear a mask, but die at night:
As I take it off and all is not alright!
This is not me, but what I've become;
I'd rather act than just be lonesome.

I still do feel sometimes alone:
That's when I wish I had a heart of stone.
And when it's cold, or cold I feel:
I use the ice to the many scars conceal.

The sun then shines above my head:
Then melts the ice that's the forzen tears I've shed.
I don't want your pity, nor your grief:
I've had enough and they are nowhere near relief!

It's not about what you have, but what you've lost;
It kills to know that greed indeed comes at cost.
I've been to hell, and back again;
I've learned that all great art comes from pain!

It's not that easy to speak out loud,
Specially when the truth doth minds becloud.
You're just not me, nor in my shoes:
To judge whether you were to win or lose.

I write so free, I'm not afraid;
I'd rather burn out than away fade.
It feels so right, yet hurts too much:
I'm clinging to this pen as I at life do clutch.

I'm not alone, I'm reaching out:
To those like me, who do but wander about.
And when I'm sad, or in despair:
I think of all the times when there was pleasure there.

Just because I wander, doesn't mean I'm lost;
Maybe I'm to find what once I've loved the most,
Or just to turn round, and stay away:
From what I gave it all yet left me in dismay.

'So hold my hand, and let's walk a mile:
I'll show you what's worth dying for and what's just vile.'
We walked too long, then stopped at last;
It seemed that we stood still while life before us passed.

He whispered then whether I knew or not:
That we're ourselves and that's all what we've got!
I understood when did the mirror clear:
That he who loves himself his love is the most dear.

I now arise in a mirrors room,
And bless he who helped me banish the gloom.
I was like you so long ago:
Then I was saved, I think, by a friend; or foe.