Mental Illness ?
It seems, I have never really been able to discern
what it was / is, that should be of great concern.
Into my brain, nothing seemed, ever to be burned,
except for memories, of a few, my heart did yearn.
What lingers in my brain, now, three aneurisms,
one locked up in handcuffs, the other two, in prisons,
waiting for their opportunity to erupt,
escaping, bringing things to a halt - so abrupt !
These be, my unfettered confessions.
It seems, I have yet to learn my life’s lessons.
I seem not, to be able to make concessions.
Surely, I must need psychoanalytical sessions.
With all this reminiscing
I have found, something is missing.
I wonder ?, just how opaque
are the lines I write, how they make
one feel, what they will take,
from one who could be a fake.
Could faker be my name ?
Could this be just a game ?
Does a word or two, bring to life, a thought ?
A thought giving birth to a rhyme - what have you got ?
B. J. “A” 2
Copyright © William J. Jr. Atfield