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 caressesthe encasement of my soul,provoking verbal responses.Nothingness which wreathes around me,a curve in a state of nonexistencemeandering...

Dear psychosis, Lowly your voice howls Within the wintry confines of my mind. Now is the winter Of my discontent. I feel your veil over my eyes thickening. What is reality? I reach for it, But with broken hands,...

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. Where we...