Sunday, 2 April 2017

Demanding Times

My voices are demanding, and can be deafening
As they eat up my thoughts with their oughts:
They can control me a times, and riddle me with rhymes,
As they are poetic with my hardship of their lack of friendship.

Do this and do that - you're too fat, take off your hat,
A torment to bear, that they don't respectfully care:
And they can control my fist to their hiss and bliss -
And as I punch myself, I get worried about my health.

To be gravely ill is a bitter pill to swallow, and at will
My sanity is all over the place, showing on my humble face,
Victimised for being me, and innocently I plea that my insanity
Will flee, and a thought to ought is having a care to bear.

Copyright Andrew Stevenson 02/03/2017

A poem on how I was. I am well at the moment, and have been for a number of years.

Thank you. Love love, Andrew. Bye.

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