"Walking down the street,
Debating and contemplating,
Where I should go,
So I look around,
See infants rolling nt eh ground,
Old man begging for change and something to eat,
A single mom hustling to make ends meet,
Then I saw that ghostly figure,
It started to shriek,
What is reality?,
Is it my imagination?,
I run, run, run, run
Until I'm done, done, done,
Get on the ground,
Stop drop and roll,
Did everything in my power to attempt to know,
To know what's wrong with me,
These hallucinations,
Have no limitations,
They just drive me insane,
They flow through my brain incessantly,
It's something I don't know how to beat,
Not on cocaine or any drugs in fact,
This is no act,
For now,
Live life normally,
And I guess,
I should just,
Watch my back..."
-"Insane Hallucinations"
Investigator Says:
I know it's not true,
It just can't be,
This poem is not you,
Acting all gothic and sad,
More crazy in fact,
Like your feeling all blue,
You write like it's abstract,
Half your poems mean nothing,
No life experiences,
Your whole thought winces,
And creates this mess,
Sending readers' minds into,
A check and guess,
Whether or not,
It's true or a plot...
I Say:
What should I say?
Many of my poems,
Relate to my life,
In just no way,
That doesn't matter,
The message is sent,
And however it went,
It's not just chatter,
So what's the matter?
This isn't a dark poem,
I'm not trying to act E.T,
And phone home,
I write what my mind,
Is deciphering at the time,
I happened to be thinking,
Not of frustrations,
But instead Insane Hallucinations...
