The family thinks that I’ll ‘go’ insane. I read to many biographies of Dylan.
Acquaintances treat me like a defective toy that they loved when they were four years old.

Rimbaud- “I was damned by a rainbow.”

I think he was speaking for all defectives when he
said that. Prison Shelters for youths. Asylums and correctional facilities for adults.
All inmates. The outcasts.

When I am sane, I’m treated like a Madman. When I am a Madman, everyone ‘knows’ what
is wrong with me. Certainly they can tell. Having their degrees in Pop Psychology.
The doctors cannot tell. I’m the ONLY ONE who has ANY COMPREHENSION as to WHAT I’m Suffering.

My mind like an engine careening, spinning out of control. Yes, I shed a tear over my
misfortunes. The inmates made to feel worthless, nobody. The asylum ‘patients’made to feel
worthless, nobody.

Violence seeping from my pores. Hatred throbbing in my veins and weakens my spirit’s blood.
Eyes rattling in my sockets. If only I could kill with a glance.

Glistening steel walls of the isolation room. Strapped atop fresh starched bed sheets. Pumped
full of “soothing” medication. Staring at the surveillance camera watching me, motionless. Not
knowing enough to weep. Light disseminated through 3 locked down quarter inch thick plastic windows.
Forgotten behind two bolted doors. With permission, I sleep.

It descends quickly or creeps over so patiently. Enrages me. Hitting precisely at the most
unsuspecting and weakest moment. Overcome with emotions. Conflicting. I isolate myself from those
with no understanding. When you are down and out, nobody wants to be your friend, anyway. I’m
your confidant, not your dog.

Possessed by whims at 4 am. Hungry and Thirsty, Powered by a 550 volt adrenaline blast
like a jack rabbit playing chicken with a speeding car at dusk: to decipher the meaning of my
splintered thoughts. First scribbling, a word, brings an association of a song.
“Try to see it my way/ Do I have to keep on talking until I can’t go on? / Think about what you’re saying/
you got it wrong and you think that it is all right.”

Hours streak past. When did I wake? When did I sleep? I can’t sense time by Sun or Moon.

“I never give you my number/ I only give you my situation/ and in the middle of investigation/ I break down.”

I am pain. All who find my company recoil with lacerations for loving one in agony. Thus, my exile from
relations. I want not your pity nor your mollification.

Violence seeping from my pores. Hatred throbbing in my veins and weaken’s my spirits blood. I smite
bystanders with my appearance. I am finished with putting on airs of tranquility to appease the concerned.
Rimbaud- “I was damned by a rainbow.”