Intentional Depersonalisation

Emotions are like wild
African cats, growling and hunting
their way through the scrub
terrain of the mental plains.
Gleaming in scarlet from their latest
kill, they yowl into the moonbeams,
mimicking some werewolf
they had seen on some science fiction
program so long ago.

But no, but no
I cannot let these
animals roam.

In a crystal ball held
in a far flung gypsy hand,
I hold these creatures
captive.

I am their owner. I need not
feed them nor acknowledge them.
They can die for all I
give a damn.

Yet, one animal still is free.
A great salacious tiger
with an English drawl
and malicious wit.

Oh, how dare this
cat betray it's mistress!

Distress signals
sing across the
dusty prison cells
that the others are held
within.

Rebel and starve yourselves,
give yourself cancer
and rot, rot, rot.

It is all a delicious folly,
this aching waiting for animals
to suffocate themselves in
faeces and self-pity.

Oh god, depression is loose
and fancy-free. So delightful
his dry tongue and willful
destruction of self.

Wanton beast!

The shadows seem to congregate,
those blackish anarchists. Paper
thick and skin thin, oh sing
the sanguine hymn.

Fly by whatever means,
hijack a seraphim's wing,
annihilate a dragon's tail
and bring yourselves an alabi.

Attack at dawn, I do not care.
Each thunk of my wrist holds you
back in your cage.

You cannot escape today, I am
too weak.

One day, when I can muster
the strength,
I will let you all go
and I shall descend into
madness.