I sit in a chair,
In a room with no flair.
That room was bare,
And stale was the air.
In the wall I try to put a dent.
This soft wall just won’t relent!
At that moment, reality was bent,
For a vortex opened up and in I was sent.
I came out to a world filled with fear.
When I realized this, I shed a tear.
“They don’t deserve this! ” I shouted for everyone to hear.
After I said this, my eyes began to clear.
This place had flair, stale WASN’T the air!
It was filled with color, and it I could barely bear.
It was so beautiful, all I could do was stare.
Other people looked like they just didn’t care.
When I saw this I thought, Are these people blind! ?
This place must be one of a kind!
Wait…the reason it’s one of a kind
Is because this place is inside of my mind!
I’m in the soft room on a table, two feet from the floor.
I was given medicine and I knew nothing more.
I woke up about noon, maybe a minute before,
In a straightjacket screaming, “I can’t take it anymore! ”
What a brilliantly not insane poem about not really being insane. Insanity knows no boundary, we can't hook it in poetry but we can prevent it. Smiling at you, as insane as the next poet I never met...
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Wow, thats intense, never knew you were such a poet. but you are sitting right next to me, am i insane? ツ