Life Support Poem by GRANT FRASER

I don't know what's
real or not anymore,
at least I don't know
the impact of being there,
what I can achieve or cant?

then there's the arguments
and disputes,
I prefer to have a go at
myself whenever I can,
tear me up like a long
goodbye letter,
'yeah I know! ',
then glue it back together,
'hello again! ',
and tear it up, a second time,

what do you mean it's
too late,
like a man hurdling fences,
towards his own grave...
things falling out his
head, he thought was dead,
until the wind catches them,
or stirs up
the components of thinking,

for a second it looks wholly
different, I don't know how
to move, or where to go, but
I do know that I know I am aware
of that alone, sticking to Earth,
and bearing or keeping myself
well enough, not to fall off!

gloom, what are you,
a word, a living effect
or an affect, or did somebody or
something else plant you,
whatsmore who or what puts
the pysche in a shredder?

so by writing this and being
here, in the moment, could be
vascular, a hidden survival technique,
so cry plenty and do not either,
show all parts, yet hide them,
your heart like a crushed red spider,

this is not real either - ye know?
but it is, what? just another awning,
I got to keep in doors more often!
protect my shell and go to hell,
with the best of you, like why think
anything...

until the words start picking
themselves up again, bouncing
my lack of understanding up
against me, you made it all up,
didn't you - built it from scratch?

I did - I did, not understand it
at first, and then I did, but then
It turned on me, like anything does...,
thinking is your life support machine,
no matter what you drink, it's done...