Schizophrenic Poems, Short Stories, and Thoughts

Ghosts, born of smoke, have swept us away,
We are listless in an infinite realm,
As ashes, bare the silence of our name
We are now null and void…

Toy with a new thought,
What is dead is already waiting,
We, are inelegantly awaiting our own doom,
The shifty and adolescent ones,
We, are only young fools,
Enslaved to a single thought,
What if?

So, train your mind,
To only see the wicked, it seems
For the wicked, is all we see
Or we, are just the wicked ones…

What drives a man crazy?
Are we being driven to this inevitable fate,
Listlessly broken, and going freely,
Slipping down a spiral of fear,
Fading a little more as each day passes,
As the look in our eyes change forever,

Insist upon an ending…
Nah, we shan’t
Just tell how to make this stop
And we shall be happier people