Long Paranoia Poems
Long Paranoia Poems. Below are the most popular long Paranoia by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Paranoia poems by poem length and keyword.
let me be a wanderlust vixen in the vortex ~
a voltage liquified to the upbeat vibrato,
versing vehemently in venom-glazed grief,
and rehearsing your criminalism
like a serial liar ~
because I am too voiceless
to command the Monarch of mercury
to vindict the sojourners
that lure me to their blind holes,
and vandalise the chromatic criticisms
that clench me in their cyanide claws,
through the cracks
branching in the demonised billboard …
Oh scorching serpent,
slithering with velvet-tongued torment,
never leave me tethered
between the lips of loneliness ~
like a leaflet tucked on
the seaglass screen,
screaming for those stygian seashells
to lock my secrets behind
the bars of misplaced passwords,
because, this pulse of paranoia
is too pure to palpitate
in the pixels of poisoned prayers ~
and there is no anecdote
that annihilates the anxious
acronyms of abandonment,
streaming through the realms
of disposed dimensions.
There are no strings attached
that hum in hexed hoaxes
through the violin vendetta
strumming an acapella ~
through the lusty noise
of monsters longing for
the loss of my sacred insanity …
perhaps, the voice in my head
is an ode to the orchestrating shadows,
too mindless to manipulate ~
scripted in secluse
replaying the ruins,
paused in the prison
a sketch of sleep in splitting senses …
as bipolar ballads
tame their schizophrenic strokes ~
when the Maestro of moon
mediates a megalomaniac
sonnet of venting slaves,
in the muted matriarchy of mantras
that keep repenting rage,
in the impulsive incandescence
of my icy azure ink ~
refusing the warmth
of vulnerable sagas
that ache to heal me
and release the
insomniac coldness ~
blanketed with the sparks
of murky mermaid stars …
I own this label ~
the name of a lunar lunatic,
and this is a war,
between the sphinx of sabotage
and the never-ending nocturns ,
as, I remain weapon-less
like a cardinal iris,
rewriting the rules
of unshakable madness
in your maniac meanderings,
ineffable ~ invisible ~ incurable
an impostrous
i n v a d e r …
The story, sad.
The man, sad.
The wife sad,
The children, sad.
The diagnosis, paranoia schizophrenia.
It happened to the man when he was twenty-nine.
He had a sweet family, everything going fine.
But then this threw him out of whack.
He never got his family back.
His young wife had no idea what was wrong.
He followed voices, singing a lonely song.
His eight-year-old daughter was confused.
She kept it to herself, a bit amused.
His new baby, a boy, grew up without a dad,
Growing up without him, made this boy good and mad.
The wife who had married him and thought it was forever
Took him to court, and had his parental rights severed.
He lives alone, on days he is not the President.
On those days he lives in the White House.
He cannot go out on election years, because he is afraid of his fans and the FBI conspirators.
Everyone is out to get him on election years, and sometimes on Tuesdays on other years.
The story sad, the man sad, the wife sad, the children sad.
Paranoia Schizophrenia, a serious business.
Beck and Cowan, with Graves,
wrote the Spiral Dynamics of memes,
or cognitive-affective enculturation climates
of Left-Right as Yang-Yin spiraling equivalence,
or maybe not,
I'm still not quite sure
how much I am seeing and hearing into their words.
For example, from page 56,
I was going through their evolving octave of historical colors
of humane-divine time,
beginning with
"Beige-a state of nature"
"Purple-[spiritually dynamic] mysterious [sometimes enlightening] and frightening"
"Red-[LeftYang dominant] tough and dangerous like a [WinLose evolutionary] survivalist jungle"
"Blue-directed by a higher [prosperously regenerative v impoverished degenerative, monotheistic] power"
"Orange-full of viable [optimally WinWin cooperative-integrative polyculturing, inter-religioning] alternatives"
"Green- shared [EarthComPassionate] habit[at] of all humanity [ego-mind-spirit within, as all of EarthTribe's eco-body-nature without]"
"Yellow-at risk of chaotic [Anthropocene] collapse [into further LeftBrain/RightWing monocultural/monotheistic violent dissociation from indigenous AnthroSpirit/EarthNature health/wealth nondualistic wisdom]"
"Turquoise- a single living [panentheistic EarthGaia sacred/organic +1/-(-0) ego/ecosystemic cobinary copassionate-mind/co-pleasuring-body ] entity"
A win/win opportunity for complex multicultural
ecopolitical
ecological
cooperative
systemic peace development
where 'yellow' paranoid yin-repressed RightBrain depressives
"learn how to be [systemic trauma] free
but also [regenerative-health] principled
seek[ing] the [bicameral turquoise Tao] order
beneath [and deeply within, and above, both out and in, midway,
inbetween, wu wei] Earth's apparent [cosmological dualdark notnot LoseAnthroMind/LoseEarthBody] chaos.
Maybe win/win endorphins
produce inspiraling polyphonic color strings
reconnecting trust's pronoia evolution
through regenerate humane-mind/divine-body win/win enculturation
emerging Ego/Eco nurturing
timelessly co-present consciousness
of therapy-informed Tipping Points
Tao rebalancing
therapy v trauma
pronoia v paranoia
polycultural climate health
re-ligioning restoration.
To escape your reality,
you tend to sleep your days away.
Yet, at night, you prowl dark alleys,
where scary shadows go to play.
The night air reeks of foul odors
masking the scent of cheap cologne.
And paranoia bows your head;
in hopes that you'll be left alone.
You find your drug dealer, lurking
behind a smelly garbage bin.
And he's eying you with contempt;
while wearing a cynical grin.
Sneering, he demands more money
for half a gram of stepped-on dope.
And yet, your need outweighs the cost
as you swallow your pride and cope.
Drugs use chemical delusions
to camouflage a life of tears.
And instantly, all of your pain
just magically disappears.
Sometimes I wonder if I pass through your mind at night
And that's why you haunt my sweetest dreams all night
What it takes to drive a man insane
Sweet vanilla
You weren't the first to leave me desolate
I can only pray you'll be the last
Because I'm getting tired of the paranoia
And constant fear
How can you all expect me to trust you
When every time I do you betray me
Trust is a luxury I can't afford
When I know all you want is to break me
How I wish to get back to basics
Breathe in the sweet vanilla air
Love without fear
And trust without doubt
But the time for that has come and gone
Now my fear's become my God
As I beg for your taste once again
Sweet vanilla
she was taken by surprise as she reached a pinnacle of confusion
rather used to hitting the wall this time a mirror blocked her way
‘back to square one’ it seemed to suggest but edgy as she was
it mocked her because she was used to running in skewed circles
whenever an obstacle loomed and there were too many to brace for
‘surely a curved ball reflection’ with magnification and highlights
of the hardship and irritation that had followed her many shadows
‘multiple personalities’ they said but she preferred creative contempt
had struggled with lateral thinking but decided to look at the frame
to halt for a moment from restlessness and in built deconstruction
something began to shift and teased her to inspect the hidden rabbet
bevelled surrounds might level her attempts to crash again in terror
although anger and paranoia had always been perversely comforting
and she was aware of the dangers of rising to futile levels of hope
curious with nothing to loose though she gathered a last bit of courage
tools of efforts were blunt and rusty she had been screwed for too long
and no stretch of imagination could have prepared her the surprise
at first she thought that she had stumbled on a safe full of treasures
a pot of gold maybe or ancient charted conveyance of how to proceed
instead she walked through a secret passage and never looked back
08th August 2020
Coming of the Magi
Matthew 2.1-12
Verse 1: “After Jesus was born in Bethlehem...Judea,
During the reign of King Herod, magi came [Yeshua],
From the east to Jerusalem. 2 They asked: [aroma],
‘Where is the newborn king of the Jews? [paranoia].
We’ve seen his star in the east, and we’ve [hernia],
Come to honor him.’ 3 When King Herod [gonna],
Heard this, he was troubled, and everyone [won’t ya],
In Jerusalem was troubled with him [trauma (Athena)].
4 He gathered all the chief priests and the legal [torah],
Experts and asked them where the Christ was [Amonia],
To be born [stroma]. 5 They said ‘In Bethlehem [krona],
Of Judea, for this is what the prophet wrote, [Adonia]:
6 “You, Bethlehem, land of Judah, by no means, [aqua],
Are you the least among the rulers of Judah [enterica],
Because from you will come one who governs [insignia],
Who will shepherd my people Israel [loud n’ proud aura]”.
7 Then Herod secretly called for the magi and [drama],
Found out from them the time when the star [corona],
Had first appeared [prima]. 8 He sent them [begonia],
To Bethlehem, saying, “Go [n’] search carefully [beg ya]:
For the child. When you’ve found him, report [nihil mora],
To me so that I too may go and honor him.” Paronama].
9 When they heard the king, they went; and, [proxima],
Look, the star they had seen in the east went [comptonia] -
Ahead of them until it stood over the place [concordia],
Where the child was. 10 When they saw the star [folia],
They were filled with joy. 11 They entered the house [coxa],
And saw the child with Mary his mother [Collutorium gutta].
Falling to their knees, they honored him [phenomena].
Then they opened their treasure chests and [poma],
Presented him with gifts of gold, frankincense [aroma],
And myrr. Because they were warned in a dream, [gala] -
Not to return to Herod [inca], they went back to [ok plasma],
Their own country by another route [elegantia (got ya!}].
I believe this is Matt 2.1-12, and know that you will lambda,
Because this trauma dealt with by the magi, was brahma.
Common English Bible used.
Delusion and Reference
(Paranoia)
Once there was only one, not fun,
So then this became two, did moo,
But my mum thought there were two,
There was her, and then guess who,
God said this, that, she said, like glue,
So her and Him had chats with another one,
This to me made still two in the room,
But the room had three to happy her,
And to the other one with her, further,
They deludedly found her valid and clever,
So they never hissed at her nor did mur,
Such that to them in the room done,
There were also three in the room there hun,
Not to be bred, so him and her and Yun,
Simmered my symptoms which decayed,
My youth and I was subjugated dismayed,
Such that I am now discharged recently,
Not newly promoted without ropes concisely,
Didn't want to placate the man walking behind,
Erroneous paranoia is best left to fester inside,
And so I don't know why health professionals sit,
Without asserting this mistake of faith which does slit,
Numbers - if functionally for other people and the kids,
There’s three, and her factor always liaisons her upper lids,
Then there are three real people in the room, lipids,
To them, at medical appointments, healthcare visits,
Meetings, excuse the syllogising of a sought parallax hits:
So the real converser, the professional, they must cohere,
That mum’s views may be quietly rejected unsaid,
Subtly accepted but then bypassed in favour of the kid,
Who needs to be pulled up from the pit of loneliness, bid,
By the health professional who must relinquish resolutely -
Through paperwork just to file away the sinner here absolutely,
Because ABC to me means that there's two in the room,
When there’s only two in the room, tested, there's two chemically, boom,
Since hormones cannot combine with a metaphysical being to boon,
He will loon when dislocated occupations and displacement loom -
A mathematician is not an essayist and neither a fit bit a goon;
And therefore, please remember that you become what you've done,
Not what you've sung and altered, so when healthcare workers are spun,
You get paranoia, not mum by ego, if they don't bravely come into the sun.
In July, the sun mocks me—burning bright,
yet I shiver in corners, wrapped in fright.
The air is warm, the world is gold,
but something ancient, cold, takes hold.
A voice from the mirror whispers my name,
the walls are breathing, they play a game.
Shadows crawl like thoughts I hide,
my mother’s eyes in the ceiling slide.
I light a candle—no warmth, no glow,
just flickers of memories I’d rather not know.
Did I lock the door, or was that a dream?
The teacup laughed. The faucet screamed.
A child cries in my spine each night,
clutching Oedipus too tight.
Paranoia, hallucination, the soul's disguise—
I freeze beneath a summer sky,
and truth, like ice, lives behind the eyes.
I went on a bike ride, I was hyper-alert
I had just emerged from the mental ward
I thought I was despised, felt wounded and hurt
But I lied to the doctor to get out the door
For the first miles I felt the wind in my hair
Then a car drove by, I heard a loud jeer
It was just a dog with his nose in the air
I had mistaken my species, all was clear.
Two miles on, an ambush from the side
A loud sneer, I felt sudden stress
On closer look, a Downs Syndrome guy
I let out my breath, stress got less.
Got into Kingston, car passed, a shout
"Go Home" it said, and then passed by
Was this true, should I block it out?
Why riff off a chord, if the chord don't apply?
Ten miles later, a hand reached out of a car
Tried to push me off the road
They failed, but threw my mind's door ajar
Stress climbed, I felt I would explode.
I crested a hill, a view opened wide
Then I started to think, was it all the same?
Why get anxious, on this scenic ride?
My illusions and theirs - it' was all a game.