Bizarre delusions painted upon my life’s canvas.   Psychosis dripping with striking dreaminess.   Amidst wispy clouds loom romantic castles.   A bodiless poet with fleshly hands   scribing wild, surrealistic thoughts.   Brushing hallucinations within a utopian mind. 

It does not begin, it does not end. Never hear it start, never hear it stop.   Ceaseless, present at every moment. This inner sound - an object of sense.   With willpower we dominate, breathing at our will. Whereas we are subordinate to the sound of silence.   An entity you cannot dominate, but...

Psychosis carried in the gales, for I am surely windblown, windward from my own psyche, where boundaries of reality have eroded.   With concealed hands, a nonvisual hallucination caresses the encasement of my soul, provoking verbal responses.   Nothingness which wreathes around me, a curve in a state of non-existence meandering...