Sleep is an incandescence,
When a tormented poet cries
Listlessly broken in an essence
Shadows break and we wonder why
Haze and starry skies, divide night
Did I die, or do we have to wait to see
Wisping thoughts, an existent plight
Glazing white shining off distantly
Souls of contemplation replenish
The bitter taste of acidic churn
The prose that we can never finish
Laid waste, in an antique urn
Withering inside confusion's wake
I ask God for a gentle release
Give me peace, for mercy sake
Torment seems to never cease
Schizophrenic Poems, Short Stories, and Thoughts 