One, two, three,
My mind runs free,
All the doctors agree,
I can't be me.
Four, five, six,
Scratches, punches and kicks,
All my thoughts are in a mix,
They're pulling tricks.
Seven, eight, nine,
The voice inside isn't mine,
You won't tell me what's the time,
How long have I not been fine?
Ten,
So many strange men,
Electricity, injections, and then,
Now we have to start all over again.
YOU ARE READING
Flying Whales
कविताTwenty six letters repeated again and again to create a change in one's self. Poetry at its finest. Highest in poetry: #63 8/7/17
