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The Ballad of a Schizophrenic

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The Ballad of a Schizophrenic

Post by Crete Arquee on Fri Jul 19, 2013 4:42 pm

The Ballad of a Schizophrenic

So far we walk, myself and I
As three slices of an apple pie.
Through streams of people who misunderstand,
Who are too naive to join the band.
Who stare into my face with pity hold,
Like ravens at a table but ready to fold.
Worms who writhe in lizard skin,
Glad to know I'm not their kin.

So many call me day after day,
John and Joe but my name is Jay.
Telling lies of me in front of my back,
Of my childhood and how my mind lacked.
Just seven years under my belt,
And they pushed to ask me how I felt,
When my mother left me home alone,
Alone in the jungle and free to roam,
When I bathed my cat into a rave,
And dried its fur in the microwave.

Time alone and time I waited,
Long beyond when hope had faded.
Nights in darkness but marked by laughter,
Screaming cries of here and after.
Cries of dreams never lost but forever found,
From every wall the word of a lost mind abound.
Voices echoed in another room,
Of spirits lying before their tomb,
Condemned to here and forever after.

There they call me to and fro,
Jay and John but my name is Joe.
What conspiracies they twist to create,
That my mother’s dead through and straight.
But gone she only for the day,
To shop and provide, and claim her pay.
To do all she can and love me so,
To bring me clothes and love me so.

Come you home soon to me,
To hold me tight and set me free.
Send me off to live and to play,
And set me not to worry a static fray.

There they call me from hinder and yon,
Joe and Jay but my name is John.
How they hide their children from me,
But so would I if I were me.
Six years old peering through an open door,
At my mother laying sprawled upon the floor,
Beat unto death with golden club in hand,
My father surely was drunken again.

But straight into afterlife will taken bodies go,
Straight to hell with a single blow.

My father’s gun for which he loved,
Like the car for which he loved.
With hours only lonely, staring deep the respite of sweet despair,
And placing both, neatly away with the love he paired.

Hide away the love you never found,
Bury deep your heart into the ground.
Leave your son alone to die,
And cut him through with every lie.
Beat him through with every blow,
But be it the closest love he’ll ever know.
Take him to town and leave him there.
Do it all again, if you dare.

My father’s gun he locked away,
But out he left the key today.

In silent reverence here I sit,
Loading slowly with solemn spirit.
Tucked neatly away the gun for which he loved,
Inside my coat, and with it the love he paired.
Setting out to his favorite bar,
With a beaming smile up to par.
Dressed to the neck in my favorite clothes,
Fit for the love of any mother, wherever she goes.

In the door I breezed with psychedelic gleam in my eye,
Only to meet his gaze from where he sat idly by.
Drawing calmly with grin spread far,
I returned his love from across the bar.
Between the eyes I caught his surprise,
A forced recall on torture and lies.
Followed only by frightened masses,
And a bartender reaching to save their asses.
In my joy and laughter I killed them too,
No love or remorse but cold straight on through.
But in burst a man with gun in hand,
Bringing down the dark blood of the damned.
Through my fingers I see my life sink,
Like all the people who never cared to think,
That maybe I am not me for myself,
But someone else to save myself.
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Crete Arquee
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