Nowhere Left

He’s talking to himself he doesn’t cease
The manic man won’t look at others much
The voices in his head shape his belief
He’s bad and must deny the human touch
Reality it died some years ago
Was forced to leave his children and his wife
He’s not all right but nowhere left to go
Delusion has usurped his other life
His paranoia nothing but despair
The voices have such difficult demands
They see contamination everywhere
The hundred times that he must wash his hands
No longer sure what’s real and what is not
But voices are the only thing he’s got

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Author: thepoetautist

A Gay poet of fifty odd years who is currently living in Cambodia.

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