Degeneration

I am the skittish creature

with a dumpster in its brain

I make quirky chirps,

buzzes and whistles

My entire body swells and shakes

from the garbage in my mind

They like to mock me

because I'm scared of things that aren't real

My thoughts and my dreams

are undigested,

unholy and rotten

I am the lowly creature

with something wrong in its brain

I make choking gasps,

coughs and whimpers

The infected wounds I've collected overflow

with chewed up bubblegum,

and my nose drips greasy paper bags

I leak all the memories kept away from me

My thoughts and my dreams

are undigested,

unholy and rotten

wicked and disgusting

to be forgotten

And in my brain, that's how they'll always remain,

unless I am able to build up the courage

to cut my head open

Notes: I wrote the original version of this poem when I was in high school, shortly after starting treatment for psychosis. revisiting it years later, I am able to see how much of it was influenced by more than what the field of psychology would call psychosis, but the complexity of all that can't be captured by a single "diagnosis." instead of narrowing the scope of what I describe so that it fit in that arbitrary box, I chose to expand it.