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Poem
If I am not sick with pareidolia,
I couldn’t notice‘The Scream’ by 
Edvard Munch on my neighbour’s door,
created by the light coming from
the ground floor. 

Not even the pit on the footpath, 
where a stone was placed on a split-leaf
from one side the man’s face was screaming,
and from the other, the woman’s body
 wanted to be touched.

Sometimes,
I go to apophenia with a wavy motion.
So I don’t see the difference
between the megalodon and
an ordinary shark. 

Sometimes,
I look at a sheet of paper, a canvas, a wall,
a sidewalk, a tree…
I sing, draw, read, write
to myself…
And I feel anamorphosis coming 
into me,
without any drink or smoke,
my brain is mixed with action, music,
the movie,feelings….
I’m anole, I’m alone, I’m alone,
Psychosis.

When with the people there is warmth or nothing at all,
I want to see either everyone or no one,
Either do something,or do nothing,
sometimes I talk to shadows, sometimes-
I lose them.

Sometimes I catch thoughts
as if I am acone-shaped snail
or busy ant,
if I can’t get one on his feet,
I can be useful for them in any other way…
or to be violet or chamomile,
that knows it will be withered or
faded,
but it will fill the eyes and the heart 
of the beloved girl with delight.

My schizophrenia has several frames of 
freedom limiting,
but that’s also my drawing,
in myself,
as adissociative identity disorder 
of Billy Milligan,
and maybe I should think like Nino, Mariam, Ani, Tamar, Katie,
Natia, Tiko, Ia, Salome.
But I may stay with the same body, 
the same Nika, 
as you have known me before.

Don’t be afraid, girl,
I love you!
You will be protected by me, with me,
now and forever.
and you’ll get relief with me,
which you think to be freedom,
but it will be the beginning of those
duties, 
about the dream, this poem ends with.
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