The Psychological Kind (Poetry)

Out to get me

Bloody eyes

Killer smile

The world is out to get me,

and they're all out to get me

Knives and guns and vans and little tricks because they hate me

The world is out to get me

And they're all out to get me

To bury me alive, or to shoot me through the brain,

Or to bend back all my fingers, push me in front of a train

I know one thing for sure that I will die in vain

My funeral be half full, and the few don't wish me well

If I ever get one, they might not find me

Might not tell

The world is out to get me,

and they're all out to get me

Blow torch,

arsonist

A quick fake slash upon my wrist

Fake it 'til you make it,

I'll pretend I'm not afraid

Of all the blood and lead, that is coming my way

The friendly enemies at college think it's gone to my head

And all these shit talk bastards, say I'm better off dead

I'm scared of monsters 'cause I see them in me

And that's why humans are my downfall

Sadly they are just like me

(©P.H.Dyer 2013+)