The sky is weeping tears of blood

that drip, drip, drip,

down the roof of the world.

I lie here, dull-eyed,

the medicine that is supposed to help me

coursing through my veins,

doing nothing.

I hurt, I ache inside where no one can touch;

there is no surgery to fix this pain,

this loneliness and despair,

this insanity that people cringe from.

I am not crazy,

I know who I am,

it is the world that does not see.

The sky is weeping tears of blood,

blood that was cut lose from the heart of the world

to deluge us in the wonder,

to make us see the pain that is there.

I am not alone,

others are out there,

waiting, listening to my voice

as I ramble on, dull-eyed,

lax jawed, lonely,

about the horrors of the insane feeding of the piranhas

that fill the pool of my heart.

I lie here

feeling nothing,

neither euphoria or pain,

nothing, the loneliness is gone,

the drugs are working,

taking me away from myself,

from the eagle-eyed, bright minded person I used to be.

I was inquisitive,

I had to know the secrets of the world,

so now I am here,

alone, in the night,

being fed by tubes

the equalizer of the mind,

a creature that creeps within my body,

wiping away the secrets,

knocking down the walls,

emptying me of me,

the person I was,

who I wanted to be.

The sky weeps tears of blood

that patter on the roof,

like Santa's reindeers at Christmas;

I wonder what presents they'll bring?