That cloudy state of mind where
The voices become tinnitus,
And the world beyond the perimeter becomes
As vague and amorphous as the view thru a
That underlying sound ebbs and flows
From peaceful cicadas to screeching sirens.
The view waxes and wanes
From lava lamp to acid flashback.
And inside this…
Inside this plexiglass box…
I still seek refuge in the corners
Where the screaming mumbles are quietest,
And the melting swirls are more colorfast.
I hate this tardis-like container of mine
That apparates of its own accord,
No warning or pattern.
Neither banging my fists on its walls,
So flexible, they seem liquid,
Nor shouting for mercy thru tears of
Sanity (Insanity?) at its edge
Break the plastic barrier between.
Between me and everything else.
I give up.
I give in.
I wait for its moment of weakness,
By then too worn and tired to fight,
And instead, like pulling the sword from the stone,
Walk gently thru to the