Fantasies of the Insane

My eyes snap open

Why am I  strapped to a chair?

My mind is groggy.

Where am I?

Most importantly,

Who am I?


I don’t know much

But I know that I am comfortable,

I am at peace,

I am in love.


Over and over again

I wonder who I am in love with.

What I am in love with.


Is it the cotton on my temples?

Is it the volts of electricity surging through my central nervous system?

Is it the pain caused by hurting?

Is it the guilt in giving?

Or the horror in dreaming?


But that is just the reaction in action.

That love hurts but it is orgasmic drowning in her sweat.

I stare out through the glass and see the spots on it.

I see the spots outside so ugly that I shut my eyes.


I am facing a long winding road;

A boulevard of hideous.

Dropping ash,

Green leaves,

Crawling maggots,

Fresh air


My nose is in the sky,

Sharing air with the flies.


The buzz, the beauty and in it all,

I see the oncoming train.

Deafening thunder;

Scorching sunshine,

Simmering sand.

Sand burning the soles of my bare feet.

It’s a long walk home in the desert.



The sun is bright but lacks heat.

Yet sweat drips into my eye so I blink.

In front of me she stands,

My alluring train driver.


We share an enigmatic rhyme.

She says, “You are stepping on my coal.”

Knowingly, I reply,

“Alleviate the loneliness sequestered in my soul.”



Flashing camera lights, bright smiles;

Champagne all around.

Her high heels sink in the desert sand as she catwalks toward me.


The train hoots as it draws closer.

This oncoming, speeding, mighty steeled animal of pain.

“Bury me under your might.

Drown me in my sweet white pain that burns bright.”


Crack! Crack! The whip lands.

Red lines on my back,

The train draws closer as I smell her perfume.

Hand in hand, lip in lip, tongue in tongue,



Mirage; the fantasy of the insane.


The big baobab tree in the desert is slowly growing leaves.

Big green leaves, crawling with big yellow maggots and big black flies,

All out in the desert to share my fresh air and celebrate my liberation.

It’s been long,

It’s been cold,

It’s been lonely.


The train hoots again as I spread out my arms and look up the sky for God.

“Wait for me Father; I’m coming home.”

Three, two, one…bam!


Screeching metal,

Shattering bones, Splashing blood…


Startling firm grip on my shoulder,

Eyes snap open.

The sight of the spots on the glass,

The sight of the ugly spots outside,

The sight of the nauseating insufferable reality.

“Wakey wakey. The meds will not take themselves.”

This poem is about: 
Our world
Poetry Terms Demonstrated: 


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