SCHIZOPHRENIA

You have such a narrow mind, with all your love of.

Closed.

Minds.

But you don't comprehend.

Pages rippling the conscience.

Break the barrier, it's gripping.

Poetry like sand, yet memories so wrenching.

No one.

Can.

Hear....

You.

Become.

Psycho lit night glass.

Wasted under a mass soliloquy, soft.

The memories mold into one.

What discerns dream from reality?

Thought.

And Definition.

You....

Exist.

And Existence.

Dreamt.

The word truth disrupts your world, but it's oh so real.

The deferring brilliance of your sub-conscience.

The art will kill if you let it inside.

On one level,

Surely, purely,

REAL.