Like Me

Often I cry when I use my ink pen.

It releases the pain trapped from within.

My tears fall to the page and dilute the ink.

I lose my focus and can barely think.

My breathing gets shallow and heart beats slow.

I wonder if my sanity will be the next thing to go.

There’s too many triggers contained in my mind.

Each day there’s seems to be a new one to find.

I’ve had doctor after doctor, pill after pill,

listened to preachers about God, faith and will.

I’ve been locked up a lot and lost track of the times.

Actually I felt comfortable with similar minds.

The food’s always great and the beds are okay.

They let us all smoke three times a day.

We can watch TV and movies or play a card game.

It’s not a bad place for when I border insane.

Some say I’m a genius and insanity is my curse,

that I ride the edge between better and worse.

I say I’m just me, and what happens will be.

I’m nothing special, there’s millions like me.
Stanley Victor Paskavich