I
fret with a paranoia feeling
With
a history of seething,
And
a future of uncertainty –
What
is to become of me.
The
public is under scrutiny
And
madly and stubbornly
I
assume and also presume
In
a sad, psychotic gloom.
Who
is spying, watching,
I
am constantly wondering,
And
what is their pleasure
From
this prying endeavour.
Who
is acting and who is real,
I
mentally suspiciously steal
Away
my sane rationality
To
this inflammatory insanity.
©
Andrew Stevenson 21/03/2017
A re-edited piece.
Thank you. Love love, Andrew.
I believe this is one of the so much vital information for me.
ReplyDeleteAnd i'm glad reading your article. However should remark on few
general things, The web site taste is wonderful, the articles is in point of
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Greetings. Thank you for thinking so, it is greatly appreciated. Glad you liked the piece. I have 'bipolar'. Blessings to you. Love love, Andrew.
DeleteAnother good read Andrew. Great poem.
ReplyDeleteYvonne.
Greetings Yvonne. Thank you for your kind words, they are warmly received. Blessings to you. Love love, Andrew.
DeleteYour poem gives me a real feeling of what paranoia must be like. Well done, Andrew ~ although sad too because you went through this. I'm glad that it is a re-edited piece.
ReplyDeleteGreetings Louise. Thank you for your kind concern, it is greatly appreciated. I'm glad I'm well at the moment, and it's a past-piece. Blessings to you. Love love, Andrew.
Delete