White clothes and dark, tangled hair
Is the first thing I see out of the corner of my eye
Inward-facing knees
With little beads of moisture running down them
I never know why her fists are balled or why she is angry
But I don’t think I want to know why.
Pressed, navy suit and silver watch,
Standing at my bedside
Thick-gelled hair
With a clean structured face underneath it
He is busy, and I don’t know what for
But I don’t think I want to know why.
Faces, other faces,
Sad, happy, misshapen forms lost in time,
All staring at me and expecting something
Ghosts of the past or my mind
I will never know which one haunts me
But I don’t think I want to know why.
YOU ARE READING
Schizophrenia
PoetryThis is a very serious, very important piece of poetry for me. It was written by me, and my friend who suffered from Schizophrenia. She wanted to find the right way to encompass the real horror of the hallucinations she had, but we both had difficul...
