mad men

A mad man SCREAMING FOR THE HELP IN THE ENDLESS DARK CREVICES OF MY SOUL AND DESPAIR THAT CLAWS AND RIPS THROUGH THE THROAT... 

..and it mumbles like the stretching of the skin.

Gurgle, Gurgle, dead. 

Exceptional sadness demolished the soul and took the voice as it fed it to the mind 

KILL KILL

And then lie there dead, ripped to shreds yet invisible and unbearable. 

To the public the epidermis is connected, when underneath it couldn't be as severed as one person to another. 

Why can't they hear the noise ripping and tearing that happens on the surface of my skin. 

RIP, TEAR, SHRED..... CAN'T YOU ALL HEAR THIS?? 

Or is it all the mental war that I have been fighting. 

Remember Nam? 

NO 

How about the mental war that has been undecided and restless since my birth. 

That is the war that no one will remember, but everyone will know the affects. 

The looming oppression that seems to stay for the ones who fought. 

They all...insane from the start....never developed to be 

But always were

Mad men. 

 

This poem is about: 
Me
Our world

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