Diary of a Schizofrenic.

Rest content if you please, willful soul of mine.
I promise my life under you shall refine.

To scourge from my head all the evils I carry.
And set free my night shadow, blackest Canary.

I know my place under multiple rules.
My own sanity picked apart by slip folds and tools.

A battle waged onward, one of civil type.
And careful assassins, sinners do snipe.

Rages and fits fill my physical world.
Snippings of prudence becoming unfurled.

Alone in my ways, isolated by far.
Too cliche to bounty man made scar.

Rhymes and riddles in my own lanes of thought.
In perfection of hysteria woefully wrought.

An execution of sorts, lonely gallows of the mind.
And sleepy as wore teeth gnash and grind.

Bleeding mouths spurt pretty lies.
And open up their miscreant eyes.

I wrangle my fears and seduce the truth.
And avert inner eyes of my soul wrenching sleuth.

I beg for her sleep, his eternal open sores.
And finally lock in my prisoners' doors.

Compromise never works quite so well.
When the disagreeing self yearns to quell.

I seek upon paper and words for release.
To pray that these murmurs endlessly cease.

Better than most, with minds of many.
Insomnia gets the best of plenty.

Yet before I sleep, before I give in.
I must reinvent wills of forgotten kin.

I have yet one task I crave to master.
Just a little game I call disaster.