Edge of a Cuckoo's Nest

The end is nigh.
The polemics scream in their
private sanatoriums.

What celestial force threatens
the universe?
Self-destruction is Nature's

detox of the human poison.
Hands bloodied as
sacrificial lambs

slaughter themselves.
What anarchy is this?
I feel responsible

as if this place is my creation.
There is no pill
strong enough or no

potion potent enough to
clear this sickness.
We are trapped in this

eternal fixation with the
softest touches of death.
I see through the mask

so easily. We worry about
the silly children who
disappear in the midst

of the witching hour but
they are the safe ones.
What of us?

Arm yourselves with whatever
you feel drawn to. War brings
monsters and angels out

of human hiding. I stand
in horror. I am not of this
final battle.

How out of place, I,
the metaphorical Switzerland.
How ironic in this

salacious planet that the
celibate sinner inherits the
game. Where is my angel in

blue? She has left, still
clutching my heart in her
wallet.

Where is my Doctor?
He never existed, he is in
my head.

Out, false hope out!
Wretched schizophrenic,
teetering against

death and immortality
and I am more concerned
about my loneliness.

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