Suppression of Ideas
Holding on the unreal like magic.
But I walk on mental tombs
Like an empty vessel.
...
When Idai finally came
Harare was covered in mist.
Then he messed up everything.
The rocks fell from the mountains.
...
I am a writer.)
Mind Cramps
Suppression of Ideas
Holding on the unreal like magic.
But I walk on mental tombs
Like an empty vessel.
I refuse nothing
Its all inside, the raw mind.
I don't sleep in case I dream.
Dislocation of mind and bearing signals.
Like vacant rooms
With empty spaces itching.
It all exists own its own
I am a stranger.
I witness slowly as my black hair is cut.
I am fighting within myself.