An Imaginable Life

A interpretive poem on the experience of Schizophrenia

I call this poem wandering in the fog, 

But I can’t help but understand,

That these are my walls.

Imagine my home, a little safe space

I’ve explored the whole place, 

From living to an almost deathly place. 

The living room, the kitchen, 

The place where I sleep, 

Shit I’ve even made the depression kind of neat. 

The Gods all lied, my friends visited once, 

The lost lover owns the place, 

I enjoyed her presence once. 

I enjoy yours now too, you’re inside my mind, 

A voice to talk to or this place would be empty all the time,

There’d be nothing to do, 

But talk to the walls as I sometimes do. 

Yet the voices resound, ricochet if you will,

I’m wandering in the fog, lost in all directions,

Trying to nail them down, 

and find them once and for all. 

But all is my figurative, 

Because as I look left and right, 

I see nothing around me 

But what remains beyond daylight. 

I wait for a lover, someone soft and kind, 

To lay on and cry, lead me free 

To my own peace of the mind. 

I may not be brilliant, my mind slips in waves, 

I’m repetitive but I can love and stay

Before any wavering day. 

These words remain passage, a poetic line, 

To help me wander towards that old voice of mine. 

I know him I swear, I’ll find him again, 

He may not be the same but he’s just worn thin.

They say I fear people, 

Maybe others do, but I carry the positive symptoms 

And respecting them is what I’ll choose. 

For now it remains in the voice, 

Or a grand delusion for which there is no choice.

Their voices grind away, a whistle to my dog. 

The minds grow silent, I grow jealous with my fog.

 

I may not have the wits when reality gets blurred, 

But I’m still there. 

It’s just hard for me to be deterred.

I settle in restlessness, stay away from the knives, 

People scare me only because humanity lies. 

Because I fear going left and I’m holding my own lows, 

Going to the right helps me remember those.

I understand what they cannot know,

That these words chamber down and out,

Towards my fear of what remains unknown in this fog about.

Each friend sacred, I find blankets for them, 

I fear being left and abandoned again. 

I listen to their homes, find a place in a chair,

 in a beautiful silent space, misplace I do not dare. 

I fight for these ones, I put down my pride, 

I scare away hallows who remember their only dimes.

Sage is for clarity, 

Eucalyptus clears the mind,

Lavender for the calm, 

All needed for calamity as if I had a bomb in the mind. 

That word may be harsh but it’s ticking in my hand,

I feel not, but hold it, protect what I don’t understand.

A smooth stone sits bedside, a seashell for the seashore 

Below a soft light, which I truly adore.

My candles live for a bathtub where I’ll fight, 

All before I turn in for the night. 

Each item a purpose, 

Each feeling noticeable, 

I hear these voices and find them notable. 

My journal my pride, 

Where my lion comes out of the mind.

I rhyme in hopes that poetry lies between the lines. 

But I do not write without clarities sake

Words have meaning, some help me learn, 

You begin to listen carefully when it’s beyond your turn.

My journal may not be poetry but as I write the words fly, 

Like a dove, 

Peaceful, 

Where I’ll go before I die. 

The voices take, they steal the brain, 

They make living life carry a little more pain.  

But in the cool morning, as fog approaches the beach, 

I’ll sit here with tea in my left hand, 

Hoping the right knows what to speak.

It will not be brilliance, nor powerful in stow, 

But peace is accomplishable 

For so many I may not know. 

I told you about the house and for my tour, 

So let’s begin by opening my little red door

The kitchen is where I’m cooking so softly, 

All the spices from Asia, garlic hanging from the rafters, 

I hope my mind can cook this with laughter. 

What you’ve been reading is the horderves, 

A charcuterie as piano plays with its curves. 

In my kitchen I create hope, 

Using my imagination to create income 

As if this house were a boat. 

This house has sailed the seas, 

A small home I dream of when the darkness leaves.

So we’ve started with the kitchen where I’m working on an island, 

Fresh herbs hang above me as if it were a garden. 

Over there is the living room, where I once was a wizard,

Burning spells in a place where no one could live in a blizzard. 

Next to the fireplace is my shelf of books, 

What knowledge left is read after I cook, 

Some books were burnt in an earthquake of sorts, 

Knocking them into the fireplace when I tried to save the people of course.

Up the stairs behind you is the one room in the house, 

Yes, behind you now watch out for the mouse. 

It spirals up, a beautiful staircase indeed

It once got out of control, where my bedroom lies,

And now I live with my parents once more. 

It all began in the bedroom where real love escaped, 

And I found the attic next to you amidst my chase. 

You’ll find it spacey, where my head gets lost, 

Were they voices or just God telling me to get lost.

The sky once opened up when I lost my roof, 

I’ve repaired it since but some screws are still loose. 

When the sky opened up the clouds played with mind

And all of a sudden the devil had so many tricks that weren’t kind.

Now get down from there, it hurts my head, 

That attic has memories and sometimes they’re dread. 

I’m sure a lover or the meds won’t make it hurt in your sted. 

Yes come down the staircase nice and slow, 

Wouldn’t want you to hurt your head, 

And join this circus show in my measly meds.

Once you’re down, no don’t look at the sheets, 

Yes they’re silk and I know the views from the window are neat. 

I admire them most days in that lofty attic, 

That overshadows the love I have for the dramatic.

Yes the french doors, open the balcony it’s gorgeous,

The sea breeze will touch you and leave you soreless. 

I know it’s all a dream but that’s my loft, 

Where my love grows strong and I feel soft. 

I know about my grin, it gets cheekier each day, 

Now come down from my mountains before I reach my sautee. 

You really are obstinate, I love you already, 

Yes I climb mountains my hands are quite steady. 

Thank you, now come down, I know it’s quite impressive 

But let me show you my basement where things can get depressive. 

Now sorry one sec, these peppers are spicy, 

I’m crying because of them, my basement is just a little dusty. 

I’m too emotional? Now that’s just false, 

Make up your mind before the sauce gets too much salt.

Too far, to close? Understand my fall before we get close. 

Be empathetic I ask, my mind is still angry,

People once looked down on me, 

Stared at me in the streets, 

Looked at my clothes and called me a good for nothing freak. 

Now go to the basement, where I attempted to set others free, 

Which is why there’s a shed outside with everything they could need. 

It may not be large but about the size of the hospital room,

it’s free to sleep in and to take the necessities.

Yes the basement, it was once gloomy and dark, 

A foul stench came from a body that did not depart. 

Yes that’s me, sleeping in a tent, 

Where I almost met fate, grateful for my mother had a vent. 

Anyways now it’s different a bit, 

I store fine wine down there and food for a survivors trench. 

I dreamed of a war, a true drastic dream, 

But then I wanted kids and let go of my revolutionary dreams. 

In the basement is where people lose shape, 

Where they become animals who just need a humble handshake. 

It was a sad place where I was dragged to a box, 

But the handshake led me away from dirty socks. 

I was clean, I was safe, 

My family found new empathy for my sake. 

But now its time for dinner, 

Come eat with me under candle light 

And we’ll each live free,

Maybe the fog isn’t so bad and it’s just meant to be.