A talking poem

Transcript of a ride to Neverland with sponteous thoughts..

I am driving down as a lone rider along that lone country lane

doesn’t that sound naff

it surely does

but nevertheless

that’s how it is

the sun shining from behind

somewhere behind the clouds

that hang scattered in the sky

where he excites the air molecules

to a lighter shade of blueish grey

does that look nice?

I don’t know

but maybe it does

cars are whizzing by

with other lonely riders

empty fixed eyes of indifference

or happily whistling

look at those lovely bird chopping mashines

left and rigth in circles around the car

with their chopping blades

turning whush, whush, whush, chop

poor hawk

turned from hunter to the hunted

felled by friendly fire

onwards down the road

through an alley of maple trees

hey tree, haven’t we met bevor?

you haven’t changed a bit

maybe lost a few leafs

such as I have lost a few chances to leave

I’m on my way to the ward

where all the people are kept

who can’t keep up with the world

can’t cope with life

can’t cope with anything

just want to do away with them selfes

they scrach their arms

scarch their souls

vomit in silence

they are cared for by doctors

who have studied for years and years

top marks got there phd and know nothing whatsoever

work from nine to five or all night long

go home tired to there lifes and families

probably tortured by nightmares or daymares as it where

day after day

I do whish I was that bird in the sky

circling where I want to

no obligations but to find something to eat and not to get eaten

should I come too close to the chop than it was ment to be

darn it,

a head on collission is not my prefered way of ending

just prevented it by breaking at the right time

quite a way to go still

I been traveling this road for almost a year

when I went to see my baby

when she was pressed in a vice

pressed for blood

transformed into a human beeing with very little hope for life

going there again to fetch the bloody drugs

that are supposed to help her

but in reality

put her down, down, down

in the cellar where there is no light

where she can’t breath

where ther is little hope for life

all those psycedelic drugs

prescribed by doctors who are at a loss as to how to proceed

how can they help someone

who has lived a life of constant tension

not self-inflicted

but put upon her

an armour to keep the love outside

that is put upon her

what is the state when panic is a constant companion?

change gear stop at the traffic lights

get to the car parc and not to forget to lock the car…

w.j.u.h.

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