Life in a bleach bucket of sanity

kills originality dead

creativity is misunderstood here

life is wasting here

with every swoosh of the mop

I lean a little closer to lunacy.

 

Normal has no imagination

every day is spent

‘sane’

and sane is the word you give to people who

live in bubbles of nonchalant pride

self-satisfied, leading cookie-cutter lives

on life’s conveyor belt

of mass-produced lies, fakes and cheap makes

no surprise.

 

Normal wants perfect

all perfection has flaws

and normal wants to look like advertisements on billboards

sane wants to feel justified

sane is bullshit

delusion

sane is neither yours nor mine.

 

it’s a laughing lunatic buckled into a straitjacket

of standardised expectations

mediocre ambitions

sacrificed dreams

crouched in a padded cell of temporary safety and comfort

staring out through the barred window

weighing itself against a ward full of case studies

shuffling around patiently

waiting for medication time

whose grandiose declarations of sanity

are suspect at best

and you realise you’re just like all the rest

only human

after all.