Now I tell some Truth.
as far as it gets anyone.
I am eighteen. I am also insane.
poetry is what i do in my spare time to forget i am insane.
some suggest i am not insane, merely afflicted.
with what?yousay
merely myself.
i am borderline and multifaceted.
too many or too few selves as is customary, you know.
i dont really write anymore,
i am an American, youseeso im scared
of the world.
so i am going to college.
to be taught things.
i worry i will already know them.
i worry i wont.
i worry the world is as small everywhere
as it is here.
now, the Truth gets tempered
by my little adjustments to my chemistry.
in order to feel real
some thing or other
must floaty float in my bloodbrain.
i have haunted this site for a long time.
i feel the things that represent my efforts, recently
while strung out
on this or that doctor recommended mindwolloper,
or while not, especially,
will fall short of what brief snatches of lucidity
that i clutch to my memorybreast
very
tightly.