Twisted

Once upon a time. The old fashioned opening for a fairytale. This story does not start with that sentence.

This place is definitely twisted. My mind. I am terrified of my mind. It makes excuses. It does things I cannot control.

My mind is a monster that reveals its ugly truths. The things no one in his right mind would ever let anyone see. I wish I could sleep, for then it could not roam. Wait, yes it does, in images, like every other line of a poem.

The love I feel for the girl down the street. She has no idea why I stare; she sees me as a creep. She will casually drift to the other side of the road for fear I may actually, to her, speak.

Freak! Why am I thinking in a poem like trance? Why am I dancing like I have ants in my pants? Help! I've gone to the other side. What is here? The unfiltered rambling of my unstable mind.

I want to win. What I'm not sure. But, you know, something that let's me be heard. Known. That I existed, wait, do exist. How acutely absurd! My mind is such mush that my thoughts curl up so, no one can get through this clammy, sticky mud.

"They" told me if I would try this Fusion, a potpourri of flowers, herbs, and stems, that my brain would unfurl. I could control my life, work, be productive, make a mark on all of mankind.

"They" lied. I want to eat, forget that I am here. Laugh at nothing, then realize in fear, I'm not sure if I am fusing or am I really here?