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The Dreaded Schizophrenic
A shadow walks where silence bends,
With whispering ghosts that call as friends.
The mirror lies with fractured grace,
A thousand eyes behind one face.
He hums a song that no one hears,
Drowning doubt in static fears.
Clocks melt slow, then race ahead—
Each second stitched with ancient dread.
A prophet’s tongue in twisted speech,
Reaches truths we cannot reach.
Reality’s thread, too thin to bind,
Unravels slow inside his mind.
What cage could hold a world so wide?
What map could chart the rift inside?
The crowd recoils, they do not see
The cost of fractured clarity.
He laughs. He weeps. He disappears.
And dreams alone for all our fears.
Copyright ©
James Mclain
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