If you want to know what I have in my mind
I'll hand you this crumpled piece of paper
Lying beside the trash. The one laid horizontal by the stray dogs excavating for gourmet.
I've stopped thinking. The only originality I've ever had is slowly fading into the anonymity, holding the hand of introspection. I've lost my virtue of judgement. I've flown with the current down the rabbit hole into the free fall of enigmatic bleakness. All the light around blinds my eyes. The noise mines my bleeding ears. Everyone speaks. I hear gibberish. I'm cold. Uncaring, untouched, unmoved. I hate. I hate these walls. I hate this floor. I hate this hard squeaky door. Allow me to run. Allow me to run with a chainsaw down the corridor. I'm not insane. Questioning one's sanity here is the act of utmost insanity. I'm allowed to but put this index finger on my lips and shove these words down my throat and smile with the corners of my lips stretched upto the ears. Wait. Let me cut the ends, so this smile never dies down. Lend me your blade. Let me keep it in my fist and bleed till it blots this page. And you'll have something to read. You'll have something to speak. But you won't...
Cuz questioning one's sanity is a sin
you too fear to commit.

If you want to know what's in my mind,
I'll gladly stretch this crumpled page out for you.
And all you'll have is a blank sheet in your hand
This page has hiden all I have in my mind.
Things I dare not admit.
Things that dare not surface.
© smudgemark