Some Hazy Shell
My thoughts haze to here and there;
Even a schizophrenic has his days.
Although life feels like a mindless game,
why not stay a while for some grand parade?
The amusement has lost what little fun,
Soon my days are numbered, than done.
An empty shell of bones on stay;
more like a shadow,
Slant the chances and the will might draw
Away by chance, but who’s to say what’s wrong…
Or what’s right? Plant a seed, and
Swallow the fire that soon grows.
Neurotic and catatonic are the states
of mind he’s in, drawing on
so he may choose and lose,
the hounding faces that cleared his slate.