SCHIZOPHRENIA AND I WAIT FOR ENTRY TO THE PYSCH WARD
i swear to whatever lightning thrower Jon thinks he is,
these doctors hurt him, i’ll admit myself with open wrists.
be what Jon’s been warning all the nurses about. you hear
me? i will keep my brother my brother; a sheep to the nines,
fashioned in wolves teeth. Jon’s fought friends, family, faith, but
no one’s done more harm than himself. i unlace his gloves, i
unwrap his knuckles, i wipe off his sweat, i become Jon’s mouthpiece: i never
see his smile. i’m too busy protecting it.
is that all the threat you can offer?
c’mon kid, keep trying. convince me
i can die.