Ant Smith

Poetry

Cured

I no longer suffer brain storms sat outside of time and space

I no longer feel that buzz-swarm turning round inside my brain

I no longer lose blank sections and find I've missed my train

It's official, I confess, I've been diagnosed as sane

I. Am. Sane!

I no longer hide myself round corners when I hear your chat

I no longer let my tongue run loose with clever little traps

I no longer spit out 'thank-you' while I'm looking for the catch

It's official, I confess, I've been diagnosed as sane

I. Am. Sane!

I no longer wank my dick sore every bleeding single day

I no longer smoke my cigarettes in secret furtive ways

I no longer let obsessions infiltrate my diseased brain

It's official, I confess, I've been diagnosed as sane

I. Am. Sane!

"Get a routine,

Stay on top,

Fires can start

In, oh, so many ways"

But. I. Am. Sane!

For in this world I must confess

You're better off with half a brain!

Thank god that I am sane.

Thank god that I am sane.

Thank GOD that I am SANE.

I'm as crazy as the next man so I guess that I am sane

The vicar said the voices all proclaim that I am sane

I've got my diagnosis and it states that I am sane

But the man inside my telly still operates my brain.

Poetry