sanity is a little mischievous man clothed in black with dress shoes, he runs about my mind dodging obstacles and I often catch a glimpse of him hiding behind my cerebral cortex or skipping past my frontal lobe. I think he does this just to taunt me but maybe he knows what he’s doing. Now depression knows what she's doing that's for sure, she sits on my dopamine receptors half melted and in negative color. Like a painting from an abstract gallery. By far she is the most frustrating, because I can call her, yell at her, scream all day and hurl insults like baseballs and boomerangs but all she ever does is look up at me for a second then back down at her feet, with her head on her hand pretending she has more problems than she really does. I don't hate most of them though, truly without all of them i'd be stuck, writers block would have kept his grip on me, the little monster has dry callused hands like a construction worker, gripping tightly on my broca cortex. But no I don't hate him either, see I can write on him, he lets me say how much I loathe his appearance, but the one I hate just as well he knows I hate him. Indecision is a little boy with that menacing up-to-no-good smile that you would expect form a hitler youth. He’s been with me since birth, and is peering out my ear just now yelling to me that I should “revise the last line into something sounding smarter” but abstract tells me that would make it to easy for people to understand, and what is too easy to understand, well that simply is not poetry at all.
July 31, 2012