the bungled and the botched in poetry

a head fulla exposed wires
sparking irregular
seeing things that just aren't there
and conspiracies in simply everything
messages coming up unchecked
riddled with errors
in syntax and spelling
the internal editors have gone to bed
or worse yet perhaps they're dead
gone for good
lost to the storm of chemical misfires
and time

delusions mistaken for miracles
shadows mistaken for misdeeds
small kindnesses mistaken for come-ons
people just moving on with their lives
mistaken for everyone being against you

more than anything
madness presumes that
you're the center of the universe
and that's gotta be a nice feeling
hard to let go of
the monsters are all obsessed with you
the whispers are all working together in concert
just for you
special you
broken you
somewhere in the storm of
things taken out of context and
things that aren't there at all
is the comforting feeling that
it's all about you
when in the sane world
it's very rarely ever about you
it's very rarely ever about me too

out here in the sane world
most of the time people are just trying to get by
handle their own shit
stumble up their own stairs
in madness you're the star of the show
in reality
people rarely fucking care
so I'm sure that there's something
seductive
to that

you're always gonna
believe you're more than you are
you're always gonna
like the cut of your own gibberish
I stay somewhat sane
by repeating to myself
that I'm less than I think I am
I'm less than I appear
I'm less than I wish

the crazed cannot do that
and as much as I pity them
I gotta say
I'm also sometimes jealous
of that